


A Crown of Mist and Shadow

by Kiintsugi



Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mistborn, Clexaweek2020, Clexaweek2020 Day 5, Day 5, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Forbidden Love, I Wrote This For Me, Magic, Mutual Pining, Noblewoman Clarke, bc im clexa and mistborn trash, mistborn lexa, no mistborn knowledge needed, queers in the cosmere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiintsugi/pseuds/Kiintsugi
Summary: Following the collapse of the Final Empire, a rebel leader and hero of the Skaa is crowned Queen of the new government. In a show of good faith to the once powerful noble houses, Clarke of House Griffin has been invited to live with the rebel Queen to foster unity and trust between Nobleman and Skaa. Only Clarke knows nothing about the Queen. She hardly knows anything about Skaa.  But Lexa, the Survivor of Hathsin, is no ordinary Skaa. She is mistborn. She is hope to a people who had nothing to hope for. And until very recently, she wanted every last noble dead.+Clexa Mistborn AU
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 58
Kudos: 173
Collections: Clexaweek2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written under the assumption that the reader has not read any of the Mistborn series. This story only draws from the world, magic, and lore within the Mistborn universe (to keep things simple, exclusively the first novel, The Final Empire) and does not feature any characters from the series. All characters come straight from The 100 (TV series) and changed have been made to the Mistborn world to accommodate this. I just wanted to write something with Allomancy. 
> 
> Note: I actually uploaded the first chapter of this once before, but due to real life circumstances, was worried i'd never get to finish it and removed it. But, as i've been diligently working on this piece again i've decided to re-upload this fic. 
> 
> I will also be uploading chapter 2 for day 5 of Clexaweek since it fits the theme.
> 
> also:  
> please enjoy the playlist that i write and edit this to.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lrMBSDwX0qiRfUlB5PdYu?si=p3KPtdA3QsiWcX_uuBQd5A

_ “Love must be allowed to flow both ways—if it is not, then it is not truly love, I think.” ― Brandon Sanderson,  [ Mistborn Trilogy ](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/6798109) _

Clarke drank herself through the Luthadel Slums. 

The carriage was too small, but these days no one cared about a noble’s comfort – not that she could blame them. Since the fall of the False Hero of Ages, the life of a nobleman had dwindled down to nothing more than a constant reminder that they were lucky to have a life at all. 

“Killing you makes us no better than you,” they had said. “They” being the Skaa rebels that overthrew a thousand-year-old government, killed a seemingly immortal ruler, and decidedly spared the lives of the noblemen who enslaved their kind for over a millennium. 

But why did Clarke need to care about what was to become of her spared life when she had wine to shatter her inhibitions and drown her pain? 

“The world is full of wine,” she muttered into an empty cup. Her father was something of a connoisseur of fine wine and he had kept an extensive collection in the cellars of Keep Griffin all her life. But her father was dead, and his wine wasn’t going to drink itself. 

She poured another cup. “Drink someone else’s collection.” 

The wine was meant to be a gift. A peace offering to their new Queen as some last-ditch effort by her mother and Lord Marcus Kane to form something that loosely resembled an armistice. Clarke didn’t like it. 

It wasn’t fair of her to blame her father’s death on the new Queen. Her father actually supported the idea of freeing the Skaa. If they had met, they would have been allies during the rebellion. But their own people – lesser houses, but still noble – turned on them. Her father was executed. Publicly, brutally, in front of Nobles and Skaa alike. All because the rebels turned the houses against each other. She should have blamed the nobles. She should have blamed the house war. She should have blamed the Lord Ruler. 

But, she didn’t. Clarke blamed the Queen. 

Lord Jacob Griffin would still be alive if the new Queen had realized that there were Noblemen on her side of the battlefield before he was executed. Instead, she realized it too late; when his head floated in a fountain and the waters splayed red with blood. 

Her father’s death and subsequent re-gifting of his wine collection was only part of the deal Clarke had difficulties accepting. Being personally delivered to the Queen, not as an envoy or as a representative of the Noble families, but as a gift herself, came with its own set of disdain. 

The Queen, Lexa as she was called before her ascension, didn’t want Clarke any more than Clarke wanted Lexa, but her appointed Advisors, a team of Skaa thieves, insisted that their new Queen set the example she intended her people to live by and, well…. 

Clarke could drink the wine away, but this wasn’t going anywhere. 

The carriage came to a rather abrupt stop and Clarke drew back the velvet drapes of her tiny carriage. The redness of the setting sun was hidden behind hazy black clouds and heavy ashfall that made the Skaa slums look as if they were trapped in a perpetual haze of depression. The buildings were small and jagged with poor construction and stained by ash that lingered in unswept piles in the gutters of the uneven cobblestone streets. 

“Griffin” her escort said from outside her carriage. “We’ve arrived.” 

The door swung open and Clarke stepped out of the carriage and under the protection of a cotton parasol. It was the first time since the rebellion that someone had held a parasol for her, but not even the Skaa wanted to see Clarke’s dress ruined Before she could be presented to her Queen. It was, after all, an very special occasion. And very special occasions called for very special attire. 

Her dress wasn’t as gaudy or extravagant as Clarke’s ball gowns, but there was a certain elegance to the silky blue fabrics. If she were being honest with herself, she actually quite liked the way it fit; like cascading water down her every dip and curve. They accented her dress with silver jewelry, and as Noble fashion deemed appropriate, the silver hair pieces were studded with vibrant rubies. All in all, Clarke quite liked the ensemble. If only it hadn’t been stitched for the sole purpose of turning her into a gift. 

Clarke muttered something of a thank you, half-filled cup of wine swirling in her hand. She swallowed back what was left of the sour red and pushed the cup into the Skaa escort’s chest, taking the parasol for herself. 

The Skaa escort looked down at the cup she had shove into his possession and shrugged. “Follow me,” he said and tossed the cup over his shoulder. 

The escort was an older man, at least, old for a Skaa, with a peppered beard done up in a messy braid. His hair was long as well, pulled back and kept in place by an ash stained cap. He dressed like a Nobleman; fitted suit and a light blue waistcoat. At least, like a lesser Nobleman. One of the plantation lords, perhaps. Not that that meant anything now. She thought she might ask him his name. He knew hers after all and they weren’t just Skaa anymore. But as she opened her mouth to ask, he turned and looked at her with his hardened brown eyes, his face cracked with wrinkles, and she realized that he would never tell her. 

_This man wants me dead,_ she realized. 

“Through there.” He pointed with his thumb towards a door at the end of the hall. 

“Right,” Clarke nodded, not sure else what to do. _The only reason he hadn’t killed me yet is because of this new Queen._ The escort plucked the parasol from between her fingers and pushed a hand between her shoulder blades, sending her stumbling along the surprisingly well swept floor. 

The hall was lit by a single lantern that hung low from the ceiling and swayed with a foreboding creaking sound when her Skaa escort clomped into line behind her. At the end of the hall was a partially cracked door, pools of light spilling out from within. Clarke reached for it, letting her fingers slip through the cracks and wrap around warped wood as she stepped forward, pushing the door with her. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find on the other side; a queen ruling her kingdom from a dingy shop within Skaa slums, sure. _But,_ Clarke thought as she braced herself for what she would find. W _hat does that even look like?_

Apparently, not much. 

The room was small. Bigger than her carriage by a considerable margin, but still smaller than any room she had ever been in before. It was scarcely furnished with almost everything pushed against the walls to make room for a large wooden table stacked and overflowing with maps, books, messages, small wooden carvings, the occasional glass or crystal knife and several vials for allomantic consumption. Along the back wall was a tiny hearth, warming the room and causing the hair of the back of Clarke’s neck to stand on end when the chill of the air behind her clashed against the escaping heat. There were four women in room, none of which paid her any mind and only one of which was worth paying any mind to. 

The queen was all sharp edges and hard lines. Angled features liked sharpened steel and skin stained with ash that made the green of her eyes flare like emeralds under the firelight. She wore a fitted nobleman’s suit, black in color with an unfastened red waistcoat to match the disheveled look of the top few buttons of collared shirt unfastened and her hair was as wild as the tales Clarke had heard about her, accented by a few narrow braids that looked as scruffy as the rest of her. She didn’t wear a crown – that would be stupid – but that didn’t in anyway hinder the aura of power that radiated from her lantern lit features. 

“Lady Clarke,” she acknowledged, looking up from the maps on the table. 

Clarke raised a suspicious eyebrow. No one had called her “Lady Clarke” since the rebellion. The courtesy felt strange. Was she even a lady anymore? Did her house really matter now that a Skaa thief had been crowned Queen? What was she supposed to call this new queen? Your Majesty? Your Grace? If only she had been told what she was supposed to do once she got here. The only problem was, no one ever thought that this was where they would end up. 

Lexa pursed her lips and stepped away from the table, rounding the corner and closing the distance between them. “That will be all, Gustus. Thank you,” she looked past Clarke to the man who had brought her here, still looming in the doorway. 

He didn’t say anything, but Clarke heard the door click shut behind her with a creaking whine and then felt Lexa’s cool green eyes return to her again. “Please,” she urged; her tone formal and dejected. “Come in.” 

Clarke took a hesitant step, letting herself be guided by Lexa’s precise gaze to a position near the south wall of the room. Lexa joined her, keeping herself at something of a distance as she followed just beyond the reach of Clarke’s shadow. She stopped when Lexa did, standing before two askew chairs that somewhat faced one another. Enough, Clarke realized, for them to speak to one another. 

Lexa sat first and gestured to the chair in front of Clarke with a slow, deliberate nod. Following her silent instructions, Clarke settled into the seat, straightening the fabrics of her dress with anxious anticipation as the Queen’s eyes continued to spear its way through the tension and straight through Clarke’s chest. 

“Are you Soothing me?” 

A smile pulled at the corner of Lexa’s lips. “Octavia told me you were...” She paused for a moment and then decided on, “spirited.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. “And no, Clarke. I’m not Soothing – or Rioting – your emotions. As much as it might serve me in the short term, manipulating emotions does little to aid in development of trust and loyalty.” 

Clarke frowned. It was true she hadn’t felt her emotions being dampened or enraged, but a powerful Allomancer would know how to avoid being detected. And if Lexa _had_ manipulated her, then she would have had a bit of blackmail on their new leader. With enough, she could have bartered her way back home or ensured her mother’s safety over the coming months. 

“You're upset,” Lexa observed. 

“No,” Clark’s huffed. “Just drunk. And who’s Octavia?” 

Lexa smiled as she pushed herself to her feet. “You know her as Lady Aranea Brekken.” She crossed the room and grabbed a cup and pitcher from the table. She filled the glass, returned the pitcher to where she found it and grabbed something else from the table. “Octavia is the reason why the rebellion succeeded with as few casualties as it did, as well as the reason behind my decision to bring you here as my honored guest. Here. It’s not as good as anything you’ll find at one of your balls, but it’ll soak up the alcohol all the same.” 

Clarke took the barley stuffed bread, staring wide eyed at Lexa's apparent kindness as the Queen resettled in her chair. 

“The same alcohol your house sent as a gift of good faith to our queen?” One of the three women Clarke had completely forgotten about up until this point was staring at her now with rage bubbling to the surface under tense tendons and a steeled jaw. 

Clarke stifled back a snicker by shoving the baywrap into her mouth. It was bland, soggy, and lacking in seasoning. Clarke choked back the urge to gag the same way she did her passive aggressive insubordination; by eating even more. She chased it down with slightly murky, lukewarm water and pounded her chest with her fist when the food threatened to solidify halfway to her stomach. 

“That’s enough, Anya,” Lexa said. “Wine is replaceable. Our future isn’t. We only get one shot to lay the foundation for what our society will be and I will not have it squandered over wine.” 

Anya hung her head like a dog being scolded, but said nothing more. She snatched a glass dagger from the table and shoved into a sheath on her hip and stomped out of the room, tucking her frizzy, dark blonde hair under the hood of her cloak. 

The other two women exchanged a look, nodded and then gathered themselves to leave the room as well. “We'll make sure the Lady’s things are brought to her room,” one said, her voice dripping with disgust as she gave Clarke a once over. 

Lexa nodded and waved a dismissive hand, not bothering to turn her gaze to bid them farewell. The door clicked shut and Lexa crossed one leg over the other. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and I won’t blame you if you choose not to believe it, but I’m glad you’re here.” 

Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes; the fight against her own urges making her feel physically ill in the pit of her stomach. 

“Octavia told me that your father had a reputation for being kind to the Skaa under his jurisdiction. Is that true?” 

Clarke nodded. 

“Tell me about it.” 

“My father paid them. not much, but as much as he could get away with without setting off any alarms with the Canton of inquisition. Gave them decent housing, food.” Clarke raised her shoulders, trying to find anywhere to look that didn’t remind her of the rebellion. 

“What about medicine? For the sick.” 

“My mother treated them when she could.” 

“When she could?” 

“Being part of a great house means you have a lot of eyes on you, and you can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Which, thanks to you, my dad is.” 

Lexa clicked her tongue. “Your father was an unfortunate casualty. He was made an example of as a Skaa sympathizer. He was lucky to be given such a painless death.” 

Clarke couldn’t hold back her laughter. The idea that his death was painless… “You’re full of shit.” 

Lexa’s expression cracked. 

“They thought he was behind the rebellion. Your rebellion.” Clarke bit down on her cheeks, the taste of iron washing over her tongue. “He died because of you.” 

Lexa’s jaw clenched, her words a tense scrape across her vocal chords. “And now my people are free because of me.” 

Clarke didn’t know what to say. She knew what she _wanted_ to say, but she wasn’t in any position to be making demands. She swallowed back her anger, averting her gaze to the floor. 

“If you want to leave, then leave.” 

Clarke’s eyes shot up to meet Lexa. There was a cadence to her voice that commanded it. _This_ _isnt_ _allomancy_ _,_ Clarke thought, shuddering under the terror of Lexa’s steely gaze. _It can’t be._

“I will not keep you here against your will the way your people have with mine. If you want to go, then go.” 

Clarke’s throat tightened, her nails digging into the wood of her seat. She couldn’t breathe, or, maybe she could if it weren’t for the clutching pressure behind her face. She couldn’t move, her body a stone statue at the mercy of Lexa’s will. 

“I thought that we might make good allies. That the daughter of Jacob and Abigail Griffin could be the difference between war and peace with the Nobleman and Skaa.” Despite the fire raging in her eyes, Lexa’s voice remained unchanged. Still, Clarke couldn’t deny the weight in her words; the disappointment; the power. “You have an opportunity to do something your father would be proud of, Clarke. Don’t you think that you owe it to his memory to hear me out?” 

* * *

During the day, Luthadel was run by the Skaa. With the Lord Ruler gone and the Skaa workers freed from their indefinite indentured services, nobles were too afraid to venture out of their armored keeps while the Skaa flooded the streets in masses for the chance to propel their newfound freedom to greater heights. 

The once strict policies governing the city demanded limited freedom or expression. Skaa were allowed to provide only certain services, had no control over the price, and were not permitted to advertise on the streets. Now, with the Skaa being paid for their work and the regulations of sales lifted, the streets were filled with every sight, skill, oddity and loud-mouthed merchant in the city. The Skaa had changed Luthadel’s entire vibrancy in the span of a month. It was incredible to watch and even better to experience. But that was during the day. 

At night, things were different. 

Lexa squinted through the mist with Tin enhanced eyes, watching as the nobles made their moves in the thick of night. It had been over a month since she was crowned Queen of the New Empire and as of eleven days ago, a number of great houses had started putting plans to protect their wealth into place. 

Every building in the city was stained black from years of ash fall mixed with rain that dripped down the siding like sad shadows, but that only similarity between anything in the capital city. Wealth showed itself a number of ways in Luthadel: slanted tile rooftops, swept streets, well-tended gardens and yards big enough to need carriage rides just to make it to the front door. The richer the house, the bigger, cleaner, and more beautiful the property. Nobles tended to gather near the center of the city, with the great houses with their mansions and their ballrooms located closest to Kredick Shaw, while the Skaa were packed wall to wall in slanted stacks between narrow cobblestone streets. 

Of the ten great houses that once dominated Luthadel’s elite, four openly defied her and House Pike was the most obvious. The grounds of House Pike were on a round the clock guard of Allomancers and Hazekillers. During the day, Allomancers stood sentinel at their posts to ward away the Skaa who (without the threat of the Lord Ruler’s obligators) try to earn their keep through brute force and robbery. But at night the Hazekillers came to replace them. No doubt hoping to keep people like Lexa and her crew as far away from Lord Charles Pike and his co-conspirators as possible. 

“Nobles really are stupid,” Anya said, observing from her perch beside her on the walls of Luthadel. From here, with the help of tin, they could see everything. “You spent the better part of a year tearing apart their entire economy and destroying their armies before slaying a God, and here they are, rallying the troops against you.” 

“It’s a show of force, not an attack.” 

Anya gave her a look, her lips pressing into a sour line. “Do you really think that?” 

“No,” Lexa admitted with casual disaffection. “But we have plenty of time to evaluate the threat of one Great house before they become strong enough to pose a threat to anyone. Besides, now that we have Clarke on our side–“ 

“You give her too much credit. A noble heiress who thinks herself a prisoner isn’t going to help you with anything.” 

“Clarke is not a prisoner.” 

“It wasn’t her choice to come here.” 

The decision to send Clarke as envoy of faith was that of Clarke’s mother, and judging by Clarke’s response to the idea of living with Skaa thieves, she hadn’t been given much say – or warning – in regards to the Lady’s decision. Clarke had zero interest in pandering to Lexa’s status simply because she was entrusted to do so and Lexa got the feeling that Clarke instead felt it was her duty to expose any cracks of weaknesses in their shaky alliance for no reason other than the fact that she could. 

Lexa was thankful that she hadn’t tried to Soothe Clarke during their first encounter. She could tell the woman was fishing for ammunition to use against her and that mindset seemed to continue throughout the night. Convincing the noble woman that the room provided to her was not a prison and that the guards were to be stationed there for her own protection had taken nearly half the night and, even now, Lexa wondered if Clarke was going to have the grace to stay put. 

“Octavia trusts her,” Lexa said, deciding not to dwell. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and turned to smile at Anya. “None of this works without trust.” 

Anya rolled her eyes. “Lord Ruler, what has the world come to? Trusting Octavia?” Anya hummed something of a laugh, and she shared a twitch of a smile with Lexa before focusing on the Noble Keep again. 

“And now I’m trusting Clarke. So will you.” 

“By your orders,” Anya agreed. “Not my own volition. And I reserve the right to tell you “I told you so” when all her shit hits the wall and those Noble assholes are marching their army against you.” 

“And when that doesn’t happen?” 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” 

Across the city, a guarded carriage trotted up the long cobblestone path to Keep Pike. The gated walls opened and Lexa flared her tin as the carriage passed through. _House_ _Blake,_ she realized, identifying the ornate patterns on the velvet drapes. “Relieve Octavia for now. I have something I need her to do.” 

* * *

The sick feeling in Clarke’s stomach had nothing to do with her newly adapted diet of wine and boiled vegetables. She tried to take long counted breaths, to focus on the flickering lantern light that sat in the center of the table, but the twisting knots in her belly refused to mitigate themselves. 

She had been with Lexa’s team for a week now and while the group had been nothing but courteous in regards to her presence in the safe house, Clarke still felt anything but welcome. Only the people closest to Lexa put forth an effort to make Clarke feel as though she had a place among the thriving crew and, with the exception of Aranea (or rather, Octavia) sometimes Clarke wondered if that was simply due to Lexa’s orders too. 

Among the thieves, Lexa was the binding that held them together. Each of them had a unique skill set she had recruited for the rebellion and later converted into qualities of leadership. But not everyone who fancied themselves as a part of Lexa’s crew saw themselves as the leaders of their queen’s new government. They had no formal training on leadership shills or interpersonal communication, and between the current population and the influx of immigrating outer dominance Skaa, they fumbled feverishly through their duties like children at war. 

Lexa herself hardly had any time to even acknowledge that Clarke was there before now. She’d disappear at sundown, sleep throughout the day, get woken up sometime after noon to avert one crisis or another. Occasionally they would cross paths on the stairwell or in the hall; Lexa’s bruised and beaten form barley dragging itself on and clearly utilizing allomancy to do it. The thing was, Clarke knew what Pewter dragging looked like, and Lexa was dragging herself too far. But who was she to point that out? What did she know about the demands of saving an entire civilization from imploding on itself? What did she know about Lexa? Not enough. So, Clarke did what anyone in her position would do: she kept her mouth shut. 

So she spent most days leading up to this moment cooped up in the shop. Lexa had said she was free to come and go she pleased, but did so alongside a heavy warning: Noblemen were yet not safe in the Skaa Slums. Clarke had little desire to test that theory so she stayed in the shop with the thieving crew, watching as Lexa came and went, watching as Anya stared daggers into her throat, watching as Octavia blossomed into a woman unlike anything she could have ever expected from the woman she had befriended at the balls. 

“You know we can leave, right?” Octavia told her one day as Clarke turned the page of one of Lexa's books. 

“Yes.” Clarke's overall lacking of desire to traverse the Luthadel slums post revolution had started scratching at Octavia's nerves the moment she had been assigned to protect her. Clarke knew this, but like many other things, she had no intention to do anything about it. 

“So why don’t you?” 

Clarke took a drink of wine and set the cup on the table by the wicker chair she had curled up in. “Because,” she drawled. “I am a singular Noblewoman of a once great house surrounded by thousands of Skaa of whom I’ve helped oppress for the entirety of my life for the sake of my own comforts.” 

“Wow,” Octavia scoffed. “Real introspective. Be sure to remember that.” 

It wasn’t, but it was the truth and nothing would ever get any better for anyone until somebody did something about it. 

That someone was Queen Lexa. 

Because it wasn’t going to be Clarke. 

Not that Clarke didn’t want better for the Skaa. Her father had at least taught her that much, but she was no leader and she knew that. The problem was, other people didn’t. She was here as a gift, collateral for someone who actually had power and influence, someone who could actually change things. Her mother didn’t send her here to become a symbol. Her mother sent her here so that Lexa wouldn’t kill them all. She was just a tool to be used, like the Skaa used to be. 

But the crew seemed to think differently of her. They often asked for her opinion on the state of the city, what she thought about different ideas or plans, what the other Nobles might think based off her experience and time with them. People valued her opinion, for whatever it was worth, but Clarke was convinced it wasn’t worth much. So to keep herself busy, Clarke buried herself in Lexa’s library. But that seemed to backfire too because instead of people seeing someone busy in their own world, they saw someone educated and opinionated. They saw someone readying themselves for the uphill battle before them. All Clarke wanted them to see was a drunken socialite complying with her captors demands. 

The result of Clarke’s failed attempts at keeping to herself was this moment. She had been informed of the plan, Lexa’s plan, when she had awoken earlier this morning while pouring herself her now routine morning goblet of wine. 

“Keep yourself sober today,” Octavia had said in the morning, rolling her eyes with Clarke responded by taking a large gulp of the wine and refilling her cup. “Or. Sober enough. You have a big decision to make today.” 

“A decision?” Clarke asked, setting down her wine cup and swallowing hoarsely. 

“You don’t remember? The queen wants your assistance. She asked you when you first arrived here.” 

And that’s where this started; this horrible sick feeling that refused to leave her alone. It started because Lexa had decided that Clarke was going to be a part of this revolution whether she wanted to be or not. 

Lexa sat across the table, her fingers betwixt one another atop the stone slab. Between them were Lexa’s most trusted allies, Skaa generals of the rebellion forces; all of them – save for one Terris steward – were allomancers. 

Indra, the woman to Lexa’s left, was the owner of the Carpentry shop used as Lexa’s base of operations and was an incredibly skilled smoker according to Lexa’s crew. She was older, not so much for a noble but incredibly so for a Skaa, with scarred facial features and a short crop of hair. Most notably was that despite her weathered features, Indra had a striking sense of noble fashion about her. She was one of the few people who greeted Clarke with a smile and one of fewer still willing to converse with her. 

To Lexa’s right sat Anya; a Tineye. Frigid by comparison, Anya had long unkempt hair, soot stained clothing and was somewhere between Lexa and Indra’s respected ages. She never gave Clarke anything less than a distrusting glare and she seemed keen on keeping it that way. The others in the room; Octavia, a Coinshot; Lincoln, a Soother; and Titus the Terrisman, all regarded her with varying levels of interest and respect. 

This was the core of the revolution: four Skaa Mistings, a Terrisman, and The Survivor herself. 

They looked upon her now with a variety of expectations and there was no cup of wine for Clarke to hide behind. Instead, she gripped her nails into the wood of her chair and forced herself to swallow. “Okay.” 

Lexa’s expression piqued with interest. “Okay?” 

Clarke dipped her chin. “Okay,” she said again. 

A flash of delight lit Lexa’s eyes behind her steely features, long fingers untangling from one another to reach for a roll of parchment. Lexa passed the roll from Anya to Lincoln and then to Clarke, waiting until it was in her possession to say, “Open it.” 

Clarke unfurled the parchment at the Queen’s command. The writing was scratchy unpracticed; misspelled words and broken grammar filling the page. “What is this?” 

“I thought nobles knew how to read,” Anya groaned from across the table. 

“A promise to your people,” Lexa interjected. “For those who accept that my people are no longer tools to be broken. It’s also officially recognizes you as a part of my court. Sign it,” Lexa dipped a pen in ink and passed it around the table. “And you will become an official ambassador of your people.” 

Clarke looked at the document again, pen in hand. 

“We’re trying to do things without Obligators, but if it makes you feel better, we can get one of the survivors of the Inquisition to oversee your signing.” 

She scrawled her name over the bottom of the parchment, dotted the Is, and set the pen down on the stone table. “No need,” she said. “I’m in.” 

Lexa smiled from across the table as the parchment was passed back to her and then behind her to Titus. “Excellent,” she said, still smiling. “As I’m sure you’re aware, we have much to discuss.” 

Lexa was always discussing something. It felt a lot like when Clarke was young her father was bartering contracts to improve their standings among the great houses. For the better part of the week she had ignored the political jargon and loud-mouthed declarations; Lexa wanted it that way as much as Clarke did. But that didn’t change the fact that Clarke had been surrounded by the leaders of the new government almost exclusively since the Noble families surrendered her to the Skaa Queen. 

Most topics of conversation revolved around two things: work and money. In The Final Empire, work belonged to the Skaa and money belonged to the Nobleman. Of course, this wasn't a perfect truth. Nothing in the Empire was ever perfect. 

“There are a number of noble families who remain barricaded within their keeps and we need the surplus of supplies those families hold. Octavia had a few connections with the Noble families, but at the end of the day they still see her as illegitimate Skaa. I’d like for you to accompany her and I and take the lead on those families.” 

“Mistress, are you sure about that?” The terrisman rarely spoke, at least when Clarke was around. The Terris people were always so docile and mild mannered that Clarke was shocked at the idea that a Terrisman had the strength to defy the Lord Ruler at all. And now, to speak openly against his queen… 

“What sort of Queen doesn’t address her people directly?” Lexa’s neck snapped towards Titus. “I will not send someone else to make demands of people whose respect I don’t yet have.” 

Titus bowed his head and stepped away from the table. “Of course, Mistress.” 

“We also have the matter of nominating our other ambassadors. I’d like for you to nominate three Nobles for that position. The fourth seat will be yours.” Lexa waved a finger and Lincoln produced another set of parchments. “Four seats will go to Skaa families; four seats will go to members of my crew.” 

Clarke unfurled the first roll of parchment, frowned at it, and grabbed the other. Between them were rough sketches and jotted notes that represented the proposed government hierarchy and structure as well as the first draft of a constitution that would allow the Skaa workers the opportunity to get involved in both politics and the economy. There were notes on the distribution of land, wages, supplies; a hurricane of ideas all centered around twelve ambassadors of the people, and a Queen to rule them. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, literate Skaa are few and far between and those versed politics are even fewer. The third thing I would like from you is to work with Lincoln in documenting and constructing the written law of the new government.” 

“I don’t know anything about politics.” 

Lexa tilted her head back towards Titus and the Terrisman gave Clarke a slow, affirmed nod. “Titus will assist you both with this task. He is well studied in the history of the politics of the old civilizations before the rise of the Lord Ruler. I believe he is more than qualified to be your political guide.” 

“I look forward to working with you, Master Lincoln, Mistress Clarke.” 

Clarke rolled the parchments up and handed them back to Lincoln who accepted them with an almost sheepish smile. Then, she turned her attention back to Lexa. “Anything else?” Clarke tangled her fingers into knots around hem of her shirt. She could feel Lexa studying her; much the same way Anya was judging her. 

“Only one. But you’re not going to like it.” 

“I already signed the papers. It’s not like I can say no,” Clarke flat-lined. 

Lexa closed her eyes and smiled. “Well, you _could_ say no, but it wouldn’t bode well for you.” She pushed up from her seat, her long limbs uncurling so that she towered over her subordinates. She kept true to the strange sense of fashion Clarke had first seen her in; a nobleman’s attire, fitted yet unkempt, with an unfastened waistcoat and necktie hanging limp around her form and the sleeves of her shirt pushed up over the elbow to reveal the long silver scars raking down her forearms. “I need to know everything about Lord Bellamy Blake. Not just what you knew to be true before the rebellion. Everything going through his mind, everything he is and is planning to do.” 

“I don’t know anything about Bellamy,” Clarke told her, but her voice betrayed her. Not it mattered. By the way Lexa had posed the task, she was more than just aware of Clarke’s relationship with the young Lord. 

The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched. “Guess.” 

Clarke bit down on her cheeks, forehead wrinkling as her gaze fell to the table. “His father died in the rebellion,” she began, not knowing where else to start. 

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Octavia told her. 

“What Octavia means to say,” Lexa intervened. “Is that we know he trusts you.” 

Clarke chanced a glance at Octavia to find the woman’s scornful gaze honed on Lexa. “Who Bellamy was as an heir in the Final Empire and who Bellamy _is_ as a lord in your new free government are entirely different people. It doesn’t matter what our relationship was, he has to do what’s best for his house and those who serve him now. He’s inherited alliances and enemies alike. Friendships at parties mean nothing when my name is allied to the enemy of his.” 

“So, you’re saying I should be worried about House Blake?” 

“I’m saying you should be worried about everyone.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Ash accompanied by a dismal drizzle of rain painted the city in black. Trails of gray streaked the windows and a sunless sky loomed overhead. Luthadel was never pretty, and in the shadows and the bleakness of storms, it looked like a monstrous insect sucking the life out of the planet. In fact, the only thing Lexa found more depressing than the weather, was Octavia.

Lexa had thought – or more accurately hoped in an extensively out of character state of naivety – that with Clarke being the heir to the Griffin house, she would have assimilated into hew new life among Lexa’s thieving-crew-turned-royal-court within a matter of days following her compliance to work with her. But as Clarke’s third week at the shop passed over them in a grueling and difficult manner, Lexa realized that the noblewoman may have agreed to stay and represent her people, she didn’t have any intention of making this easy. Clarke’s frequent insubordination fell onto Octavia’s shoulders and while Clarke was an excellent source of reliability when it came to official negations and meetings, she had even more impressive track record of alluding Octavia’s guard all together.

“Did you lose our guest again?” Lexa asked when Octavia leapt onto the roof, alone and scowling. Her cloak protected her from the black rain, but judging by the grime that built up around her boots and the droplets that splattered her cheeks and nose, she had been searching for some time.

Clarke’s vanishing act began during her second week of residency at Indra’s shop. It had come as a surprise given that the week before Clarke had done the exact opposite by refusing to leave the shop all together, but she always resurfaced after a few hours as if she hadn’t disappeared at all. The whole thing drove Octavia mad. Being a coinshot and only able to burn steel, which in turn allowed her the ability to push on metal resources – and not a Tineye who’s utilization of swallowing and burning tin allowed for enhanced senses, it made sense that Octavia would struggle to track Clarke down. Perhaps Anya would have been a better choice to guard their guest, but Lexa had not prepared for Clarke’s reckless abandon towards her own safety and she had assumed that Octavia would have had no problem keeping her in check.

“Don’t start,” Octavia threatened, teeth clenched. “I’ll find her.”

“No need,” Lexa said, raising a hand. “Clarke is free to come and go as she pleases. You were assigned to protect her for her own comfort and safety. If she chooses to forgo that protection, then your service to her is not required.”

Octavia didn’t look convinced, but her shoulders relaxed nonetheless. “We don’t know where she’s going.”

Lexa nodded and slid her hands into her pockets. “We don’t know what she’s doing either.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Aren’t you?” Lexa asked. “She’s only here because of you, after all.”

Octavia glowered. “Don’t remind me,” she complained as she positioned herself at Lexa’s side. “If she’s this different from the person she was at the balls—”

“Is she really that different, Aranea?” Rain splattered against the brim of Lexa’s cloak, a muffled cadence drumming against Octavia’s decided silence.

“Aranea was your character,” Octavia defended. “I just played the part.”

Admittedly, she was right. Aranea Brekken was nothing more than a creation for Lexa’s own agenda. But that didn't change the fact that Octavia jumped at the opportunity to see the life that should have been hers, nor did it change the reputation Aranea developed during her time at Noble parties or why it was Clarke had taken a liking to Aranea at all. Lexa suspected they both had a tendency rebel against power. It was the very sense of rebellion that drew Lexa to Octavia during the early phases of their operation. The same sense that drove a wedge between Octavia and everyone who chose to trust her. "How is it that a noble girl continues to slip out of your sight, Octavia? Don't tell me my faith in you has been misplaced."

Octavia clicked her tongue. "You try watching her."

Lexa slid her fingers into the pocket of her trousers and palmed the silver-plated pocket watch. “I suppose I’ll have to.” She squeezed her fingers around the metal and flipped it in her palm again as she walked to the edge of the roof, tossed the watch, and walked off the edge.

She landed with the delicate tap of shoes against cobblestone, having burned the steel reserves within her to push against the metal of the watch and slow her descent. Once on the street, she scooped the watch back into her hands before adjusting the hood of her cloak. It felt strange using allomancy out in the open, almost as strange as it felt to carry metal on her person, but time were beginning to change. Her allomantic prowess was as known as the mists. It made no sense to hide who she was; not anymore.

Lexa’s eyes lifted from the watch between her finger and caught the sight of light gold amongst the dull and sullen grey. “Lady Clarke,” she greeted, straightening her spine as she tucked her watch away.

Clarke dipped her head with the slightest bow. Her hair was tucked under the hood of her cloak, a soft blue-gray material with silver thread and matching silver clasp. Her nose was red from the cold and a few specks of water splashed her cheeks, but she was otherwise as flawless in her appearance as any noble Lexa had ever met.

"Punctual, as always, I see."

Clarke frowned, folding her arms over her chest. "Don't act surprised. I agreed to help, remember?"

"And yet," Lexa said as she crossed the cobblestone street. "You insist on refusing mine."

"I didn't ask for your help."

Lexa lifted her shoulders. "Fair enough. Though I wish you would reconsider. Your safety—"

"Is none of your concern," Clarke finished. "I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

Lexa pursed her lips. "I made a promise to your mother to keep you safe from harm."

Clarke smiled that sort of condescending smile of hers: the one that told her, plain and simple, to fuck off. "Sounds like a personal problem." Then, if only to provoke her, Clarke snaked her arm around Lexa's bicep and started pulling her down the narrow streets.

It was clear to Lexa that Clarke had no intention of divulging the secrets of her disappearances, so she let the conversation go and allowed herself to be dragged along to the House Griffin appointed carriage that waited for them at the end of the road. The carriage was one several accommodations made on behalf of the great house as a show of loyalty and comradery to their new queen. Not only did it provide Lexa with the tools and resources she needed to rule, it also solidified the house as a definitive power in the New Government. In the words of the House's Lady Abigail, "Everybody benefits."

"Lady Clarke," the coachman greeted as he bowed. "Your Highness."

"Addison," Clare returned, smiling. She ducked into the carriage, hiking up the hem of her dress as she climbed up the carriage step and disappeared behind velvet drapes.

Addison was a squat man with exquisite tastes; donning an impeccably well-tailored suit and several stone rings on his portly fingers. He had the look of a merchant about him, cunning and ambitious and a little too self-serving. He smiled at her; eyes curling into happy crescents with his cheeky, red faced expression, but Lexa returned it with little more than an uncertain glare as she stepped into the carriage.

He shut the door to their carriage and Lexa listened as his shoes scuffed along the cobblestones and then as he clamored into the perch above the carriage itself. After a moment, the carriage lurched forward with the clomping of hooves and veil of discomfort fell over small, enclosed space.

Lexa slumped her cheek against her knuckles and blew out a breath. Travel by carriage was slow, boring, and inefficient by all standards for mistborn like herself. Even without steel pushing and iron pulling, a thug could outrun this carriage's mediocre speed. Still, escort via carriage did provide a sort of luxury all its own.

The carriage was warm and dry and lined with a deep blue velvet that was trimmed with gold. There was a small oil lamp attached to the exterior wall, and the soft lantern light filtered in through the drapes and cast a soft light into the space that lay gentle on the eyes. Not only did it block the vicious redness of the sun and protection from the elements, it removed the slat, bleakness of Luthadel from sight. For a true Imperial nobleman, ignoring the strife of City Skaa was a necessity. For Lexa, having a moment to dwell on something other than that for once, was a relief.

Clarke peeled the hood of her cloak away from the twisting piles of hair atop her head and with a tug of her fingers, unknotted the nest of hair, letting pools of gold splash around her. She scrunched the locks between her hands, shaking the last of the knots free and relaxed against the cushioned seats. It was an effortless, unconscious action. Something a Skaa would never have the luxury to do.

Lexa knew she should hate it, these little things they did. Eight months ago she would have rolled her eyes and meticulously chastised the woman for not considering her privilege. She would have written her off as beyond saving, as a useless cog in now broken machine. But oddly, it didn’t bother her. Instead, it provoked her to ask, “Are you nervous about returning home?”

There was an inward breath as Clarke closed her eye and then a heavy exhale that resulted in Clarke’s fingers curling around the loose fabric of her dress. “I don’t know,” she said, relaxing. “Everything is so different now.”

“Different doesn’t mean bad,” Lexa said.

“It doesn’t mean good, either,” Clarke countered despite her tone lacking defense. “Everything is messed up. People are scared.”

“Change can be scary. Especially for people who didn’t ask for it.”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s not just that,” she said. “You’ve been in charge for what – two months now? What do you have to show for that? People are scared because there is no stability anymore.”

Lexa dipped her chin with the acknowledgement. “You’re worried about your people.”

“I have to be,” Clarke said.

Lexa pursed her lips, her eyes escaping to the windows of the carriage. She wasn’t going to apologize; she had done nothing wrong, but Clarke wasn’t exactly incorrect with her assessment of Lexa’s leadership either. Building an entire government from scratch was exhausting and time consuming on the better days. There was no overnight solution so, of course there would be people whose positions were compromised or made to struggle; she knew that. Still, to be told she had nothing to show for efforts was a blow that hit harder than she thought it would.

“If this meeting with your proposed ambassadors goes well, then we can finally begin to implement policies that will benefit everyone.”

* * *

The coalition of the Houses was the first official meeting between the new queen and the current heads of the once great houses under the Lord Ruler’s dominance. Clarke would, of course, be attending despite her status as an heiress rather than a Lady, but she knew she wouldn’t be the only person in attendance without the title of Head of House to her namesake.

Their carriage was the last to arrive on the scene and was greeted by a swarm of lesser nobles who were not permitted inside and hired soldiers – both Misting and Hazekiller (soldiers trained and armed specifically to deal with Allomancers) -- who were brought as a show of force by every house who could afford them. Most stood under canopy shelters or umbrellas, huddled close to their allies and daring scornful gazes at the carriage as often as they were each other while the soldiers stood sentinel under cloaks and armor.

“Stay close,” Lexa told her as the carriage came to a stop.

Clarke fastened her cloak back over her shoulders and pulled up the hood. “I told you I can take care of myself.”

“It’s likely that there are several Allomancers out there who aren’t very happy right now. I will not have you harmed if any of them choose to act on that anger.”

Lexa didn’t give Clarke a chance to argue. As soon as the carriage came to a stop she was climbing out into the ashy rain, ready to take on the world. Her cloak gave her little protection from the elements, but when the wind picked up and the tasseled strips whipped around her body like wraith unafraid of the light, Clarke realized that protection from the ash and rain wasn’t the purpose at all.

Mistcloaks were a status of power among Allomancers and Allomancy was a status of Elite nobility. Allomancers traditionally kept their abilities as family secrets, preferring to do their work at night where their Mistcloaks had purpose and their identities were concealed by the mists. Lexa had exploited that fact in the Final Empire. And now? Now she was mocking them with it.

“My queen,” a voice from beyond the carriage greeted.

Clarke plunged her head out into the rain. “Anya?”

Lexa twisted around and looked at Clarke, her hands clasp behind her back. “You sound surprised.” Lexa extended a hand and helped Clarke out of the carriage. “I’m strong, Clarke. But I’m not a fool.”

“They’re waiting for you inside.” Anya touched Lexa’s arm and ushered her through the gardens that led to the front of Keep Griffin.

The gardens were beautiful once; carefully nurtured plants that looked like fire among the gray. A show of wealth and power in the Final Empire if there ever was one. But her father didn’t keep the gardens for status of power. He kept them for her mother. Her mother loved the gardens, and her father loved the way she looked at them. Now, most the plants were covered with ash and half withered away. Clarke wondered what sort of message that sent.

Not a very good one.

Lexa didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she refused to, Clarke wasn’t entirely sure. Lexa walked with gentle, yet terrifying focus: her back was always straight, shoulders always square, head held high and a jaw a strong as any metal. Her boots clicked along the cobblestone with a distinctive purpose and while Lexa was constantly in a state of surveillance, she never once let her stoicism falter in response to the intel she gathered. She was impossible to read, and impossibly powerful.

They reached the front doors and Anya pulled them open. “First room on the right,” Anya said, jutting her thumb behind her back.

Lexa rolled her gaze to Clarke for some sort of assurance, but Clarke wasn’t exactly sure what it was she was seeking from her. She nodded and thanked Anya for the information before escorting them through her childhood home to the room which was once her father’s study.

“Clarke,” her mother exclaimed, crossing the room as they entered to wrap her arms around her daughter. She pulled away after a moment and looked past Clarke to where Lexa stood behind her and smiled. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

“Mom.”

Lexa pushed past them and across the room to one of two seats clearly reserved for herself and Clarke. Anya was quick to follow, taking her place directly behind the seat Lexa had chosen for herself as she established her position not only as Lexa’s guard, but as a trusted lieutenant of the newly appointed ruler.

“Go on,” Abby urged, giving Clarke’s hand a squeeze. “They’ve been waiting.”

Clarke nodded and joined Lexa at her side. They were seated along the wall in front of a large window with deep velvet drapes. Lexa was seated at her father’s old desk and a second chair was placed just beside it so Clarke could visibly station herself as an ally and supporter of the new government. From her position she could see everyone in attendance and every distasteful, vile thought or expression that crossed them. She was both in power, and in questioning here, and Clarke had to swallow around the tangle forming in her throat as she realized the weight pressing down on her.

House Jaha, represented by both Lord Thelonious Jaha and his son, Lord Wells Jaha, sat directly across from her and Lexa; his cold eyes clashing like steel on steel against Lexa’s own while his son stood meek and unsure behind him. His house was the most powerful of them all, and his station as Lexa’s equal through this position was a firm statement in regards to how the nobility felt about their supposed Skaa leader.

It didn’t take a misting to feel the emotions building in the room. Already, the houses had begun to divide their alliances. The older lords consisted of her mother, Lord Marcus Kane, Lord Thelonious Jaha, Lady Hannah Green and Lord Charles Pike. They were all seated to the left of Jaha as a sign of unity and experience. However, the newly appointed lords were divided into smaller alliances. Lord Bellamy Blake stood with Lady Raven Reyes and Lord Jasper Jordan towards the back of the room with the heir of house Green, Lord Monty, while Lord Cage Wallace stood along the wall to the right of Jaha with Lord Carl Emerson.

Beyond the Lords and heirs, were a number of hired mercenaries. There were seven of them in total, each hanging near their respective employer, and all of them were equipped with wooden weapons and leather armor; all traces of metal completely removed from their person. Clarke had expected the Lords to try and bring muscle to the meeting, and she wasn’t at all surprised by the sheer volume of mercenaries hanging around the grounds of her home when they arrived. She did, however, find it strangely unsettling that her mother and Anya allowed the more...skeptical lords to bring protection inside the meeting space itself.

Jaha took the initiative, starting the conversation with an unimpressed sigh. “So,” he said. “you’re the survivor.”

Lexa set her arms on the table, lacing her fingers together and presenting the silver scars that rake across her forearms. “I more than just a survivor, Lord Jaha,” she replied.

Lord Charles Pike scoffed. “You’re a Skaa.”

“Charles,” Her mother pleaded. “Please, let her speak.”

Lexa nodded her thanks to her mother and said. “Thinking like that is something we are here to eliminate, Lord Pike. But you are correct, I am a Skaa and I am also your queen.”

“We didn’t agree to that.” Pike pointed an accusing finger towards Clarke’s mother. “She did, but not us. You don’t get to tell us what to do.”

“Actually, I do.” Lexa leaned onto her forearms, challenging Pike. “You think your little army of Hazekillers outside scares me Pike? I’ve killed Steel Inquisitors. I killed an immortal man. And if it weren’t for one of my own people growing to trust one of yours, I would have killed you too.”

Pike’s jaw tensed and Abby placed a hand on his chest. “Charles.”

Pike looked at Lexa, and then to Clarke, a pregnant pause choking the room before he nodded and stepped back. “Okay,” he said, his voice quiet and directed at Abby more than anyone else.

Lexa’s eyes narrowed but she let the action slide, choosing instead to address the group about her plans for electing ambassadors.

“I don’t trust him,” Anya whispered in Clarke’s ear.

“He’s just scared,” Clarke whispered back.

“Fear is the most dangerous form of aggression, Lady Griffin. You should remember that.”

Anya leaned back and they both returned their attention to Lexa’s meeting. She was in the midst of explaining her plan to elect three more nobleman to represent the needs and voices of all noble families when Clarke noticed the glowering expression etched into Cage Wallace’s features.

Cage was a true Imperial nobleman. He didn’t care about doing what was right or even turning a profit. Instead he cared about only one thing: power. He saw life as a competition to see who could earn the greatest reputation. The greater that reputation, the greater a person’s power. It was a mentality shared by all the great Lords and Ladies of the Wallace line, but where his father had displayed something of a moral compass in the past, Cage was decidedly unaligned.

Clarke squinted at him from across the room, watching as he rolled a coin across his knuckles and furiously made a point to pay her no mind. Pike may have been the source of Anya’s worry, but Clarke knew from experience that Cage was like no one the Queen’s crew had ever encountered before.

Lexa reached across the table and dipped her pin in an inkwell. “I asked Clarke for her recommendation as to which of you were best suited to represent your people as whole, but before I make a final decision, I would like to hear from any of you who wish to pursue the position yourself.”

Carl Emerson nudged Cage with his elbow at this, prompting the young Lords fidgeting to pause.

“And who exactly did Clarke recommend?” Cage asked wryly.

“That information is of no concern to you, Lord Wallace.”

“But House Griffin gets to know,” said Lady Green.

Lexa didn’t look up from her parchment. “Lady Abigail knows no more than you.” She finished her annotations and set down her pen, lacing her fingers on the desk again. “Clarke on the other hand is already in my company as the first official Ambassador of the Noble families. By that logic, her mother is immediately restricted from obtaining one of the remaining positions herself.”

Clarke squeezed her fingers into tight fists, her knuckles paling white from the pressure. Her father always told her she would one day stand before the other houses as a person of influence and power, but she never expected these people to look at her the way they did now – like a traitor and a fraud. She had spent her life building relations with the heirs and heiresses to the great houses. In the case of house Green, she had known Monty since she was seven years old. She had been to the Green Keep – several times at that. She had eaten at Lady Green’s table as a guest and friend, as an ally. And now this woman she once viewed with trust and respect was questioning her, questioning her mother – her father – and Clarke hated her for it.

“My vote goes to Lord Wallace,” said Lord Emerson, taking advantage of the turn the conversation had taken.

From the back of the room, Jasper Jordan scoffed. “Seriously? I vote for Bellamy.”

Bellamy laughed, scratched the back of his head, and smiled gently. “I’m too new to this whole head of house thing, I think. But, thanks Jasper.”

Lexa leaned forward and turned her attention to Bellamy. “The duration of your time as head of your house has nothing to do with the qualifications we’re looking for. I understand the rebellion took much from many of you, including your families. It is in those losses that many of you can find strength to lead yourselves. So, if your peers believe you to be a leader, I am inclined to believe that it is because you have displayed those qualities in the past.”

Beside Clarke, Anya rolled her eyes and shifted her weight impatiently. “This is a waste of time, Highness,” she said. “We can’t expect these people to vote unanimously for someone to represent them. They’re too selfish.”

“Excuse me,” Pike said, insulted, his voice booming.

Lexa raised a hand and Anya immediately backed down.

“If we’re making recommendations,” Clarke’s mother began tentatively. “I’d like to make it clear that my vote goes to Marcus.”

“So does mine,” Raven added from the back of the room.

Lexa nodded, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “I couldn’t agree more. Lord Kane? Is this a position you find yourself qualified for?”

“This is bullshit,” Emerson interjected. “A Kane and a Griffin making up half of the ambassadors that are meant to represent the needs of all of us?”

Marcus Kane sighed, squeezed Abigail’s hand and said, “Unfortunately, I agree with Lord Emerson. With both Clarke and myself on a board of four, the balance of Noble interests is skewed towards the long-standing alliance of our houses and our shared interests. I nominate Pike in my place.”

“I accept,” Pike said, puffing his chest.

Lexa looked at Pike, then at Clarke, and shrugged. “Very well.”

“Lexa,” Anya hissed. “I don’t think—”

Again, Lexa raised a hand and silenced Anya. “Do any of you object to Lord Pike accepting the second position?” No objections were raised and after a moment of silence, Lexa moved forward with her plans. “Good. Then I would like to extend an official offer of the third seat to House Jaha.”

Thelonious and Wells shared a look with one another. Despite being the most powerful house in the fallen empire, neither of them seemed particularly expectant of the offer to lead the interests of their people. In fact, they both seemed shocked. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as the group looked to the Jaha family for some sort of reaction, watching with baited breath as Thelonious grabbed his son’s shoulder and gave it an affirming squeeze and a dip of his chin.

“House Jaha accepts the position on one condition,” Thelonious said. “I would like for my son to take the position in my stead. It is time that he begins accepting the responsibility for the influence and future of our house.”

Wells swallowed thickly, his eyes bulging and fixated on Clarke. She wanted to tell him that it would be alright. That no one of any house was more bipartisan, honest, or genuine as he was. That his father saw it in him too, it wasn’t just her. She wanted to tell him that he was born to lead and he could very well be the key to all of this actually working, but all she could do was turn to Lexa and nod approvingly. All she could do was hope he saw it.

With Clarke’s agreement to the stipulation, Lexa again moved forward. “Very well. Then all that is left is to determine the final seat among you. I believe that given the current balance—”

“The final seat is mine.”

Clarke turned from Wells as the demand resonated through the room; her eyes searching for the source – searching for Cage Wallace.

Clarke hated Cage Wallace, and it wasn’t as simple as her family and his own being enemies, though that fact was something that contributed to her overall feelings towards the young Lord. He was the last person in the world that Clarke wanted to be working with and she had expressly stated such when she made her initial recommendations regarding the Noble houses most likely to work with Lexa’s goals for the future.

Lexa, thankfully, seemed to recall this information, because she had taken to covering half her face with her laced fingers while sizing the man up. “That’s not how this works, Lord Wallace,” she said in a dull voice, feigning disinterest in his power play.

“I have Emerson’s recommendation,” Wallace pointed.

“One family out of nine,” Lexa said. “That alone isn’t enough for me to consider placement among my ambassadors.”

Hannah Green looked at Lord Wallace and lifted her shoulders. “I don’t mind him representing us,” she said.

“Me either,” added Jasper Jordan for reasons Clarke could only assume involved his childlike crush on Maya Vie, a woman from a house who had long been allied with Wallace’s late father, Dante.

With a smug smile, Cage’s eyes narrowed on Lexa. “My house does more dealings with the lesser lords in the outer dominances than anyone else here. You say you want four ambassadors to represent the voice of all the noblemen? You need me. My support, means their support.”

* * *

Returning to the slums was a quiet affair of which Lexa did not expect.

She knew it would be difficult for Clarke to leave her mother and her home again after so many weeks with the crew, but there was something slightly off about the woman that wasn’t the result of sorrowful goodbyes. She was quiet the entire carriage ride back to Indra’s shop, and retreated to her room the moment they arrived. Lexa was tempted to burn Tin and sit outside her door, listen in for any signs of distress or noteworthy concern. However, she had made a point not to use Allomancy on Clarke as a way to establish trust with the Noble heiress, she was not going to ruin all that work now.

However, Lexa had hoped that after the unfolding of events and the officiating of the Noble Ambassadors, she and Clarke might actually have something worthy of intelligent, collaborative conversation. Up until now Lexa has felt as though every interaction between them was forced and one sided. As if she were pressing her power and prowess unto the woman without her consent as a way to force her agenda. That wasn’t the case, but Lexa was struggling to find an appropriate time to express this. In fact, she was struggling to find reason to speak to Clarke at all.

This wasn’t from lack of trying. There were times in which they had to speak to one another, and in each of those encounters Lexa had tried her very hardest to lead the conversation in a way that encouraged Clarke’s honest and genuine participation. She didn’t want the woman to feel like a prisoner of thieves. She wanted her to feel comfortable enough to forge relationships with Skaa that rivaled the relationships she had forged with other nobles. She wanted Clarke to set the example that would lead her kingdom into a new age of respect and equality. How she was going to do that when she herself couldn’t even accomplish this with the Noble woman herself, unfortunately, was an elusive mystery she couldn’t seem to solve.

And wouldn’t any time soon if Clarke’s mysterious bad mood persisted into their future endeavors.

“Octavia,” Lexa called after a few moments of deliberation. “Do you have a moment?”

Octavia, who had sat out the meeting by Lexa’s orders, was curled up onto the couch by the fire in the main room of Indra’s shop, sharpening her opal blade on a whetstone in the soft firelight. At Lexa’s instruction, she wordlessly placed the whetstone on an end table beside her, shoved the knife in a sheath at her hip, and marched across the room to Lexa’s side. “Need something?”

“Keep an eye on Clarke for me for a few moments, would you?” Lexa asked, her voice low as she eyes the hall that led to their guests quarters. “She hasn’t quite been herself since we got back.”

It was clear as day that Octavia wanted to remark on Clarke and what she constituted as normal and abnormal behavior, but she pursed her lips and crossed her arms and swallowed back the urge as quickly as Lexa had come to notice it. “So, keep doing what I have been doing,” said Octavia, matter of fact.

“No,” Lexa said. “Do better. You have a nasty habit of losing our guest at inopportune times and I suspect that this might be one of them.”

Octavia squinted at the near insult. “Of course, your Highness.” Then, she turned her back to Lexa and sauntered down the halls towards Clarke’s room, leaving Lexa to fulfill the task of trying to find something that would allow her entrance into Clarke’s room.

Lexa supposed that there were better, more ideal methods to tackle Clarke’s mood, but Octavia was the closest thing to a friend she had here. As much as Lexa might fancy herself good with people, she wasn’t Clarke’s friend and she hadn’t earned her trust. Not like Octavia had. At least that was how it seemed.

The relationship between Octavia and Clarke was strained from as far as Lexa could tell, but that was to be expected given the circumstances of their meetings. Lexa never thought that sending Octavia in as a spy would have had results in the way it did, and the blooming of friendship between Lady Aranea and Lady Clarke in particular was quite unexpected. But, as Lady Aranea was a fiction cast by Lexa in an attempt to learn the secrets of the Noble families, it was no strain of the mind to come to the conclusion that Clarke felt as if the friendship between them was a fiction as well. It didn’t help that Octavia wasn’t very likable when she wasn’t being made to participate and express interest in others.

She couldn’t help but feel responsible and she chewed on this feeling as she plucked a kettle from under the counter and filled it with water. It was on her orders that Octavia mingle with the nobles and establish relationships. Just as it was on her orders that Octavia follow Clarke like a shadow when she arrived to the shop. Whether it was the betrayal of Octavia’s true identity or the lack of trust given to her when she arrived, it was Lexa’s doing that brought Clarke to this point. And yet, knowing that Octavia is a point of stress for the woman, Lexa continued to choose her to send on errands regarding Clarke and her safety.

A fire was lit over the stove and Lexa set the kettle atop it, allowing the water to slowly come to boiling point. As the water heated, Lexa grabbed a pair of glass tea cups from the cupboard, checked them for ash, and wiped them down with a clean cloth just to be safe. The safe house was kept quite clean by Skaa standards, but the last thing she needed was a fleck of ash in her peace offering to Clarke. There wasn’t much in the house in the way of fancy noble teas, but there were scraps of spruce needles and a partially filled jar of chaga in one of the cabinets that would have to suffice for her purposes tonight.

Lexa steeped the wilderness clippings into the hot water and rolled back her shoulders, feeling the pop of joints in her spine as she stretched away the stress that had gathered there. After a few moments, Lexa strained the tea into the teacups and made her way back through the back end of the shop where the bedrooms – including Clarke’s room – lie waiting.

Octavia was sitting against the door, one leg propped up and the other stretched across the hall. The heel of her boot was pressing messy ashen stains against the walls and she had gone back to fiddling with her knife to keep herself busy. It wasn’t exactly what Lexa had asked for when she requested Octavia keep an eye on Clarke, but the realization soon hit her that Clarke may have chosen to ignore Octavia’s attempts to keep her company.

“Please tell me you didn’t lose our guest again,” Lexa said, grumbling as she approached.

Octavia looked up from her knife that she was twirling between her fingers, her index finger pricked and dripping with her own blood. “She’s in there,” Octavia clarified. “Good luck getting her to come out though.”

Lexa hummed, her eyes closing. “You’re dismissed for the night.”

With Octavia retreating undoubtedly to find Lincoln or Indra, Lexa shifted one of the teacups between her chest and forearm, and rapped her freshly freed fingers unto the door.

“Lady Clarke?” she asked, moving to open the door. “I’ve brought you tea.”

Lexa opened the door, finding Clarke had been on the approach to open it herself. She stood about a foot away from the now open door. She had changed out of the dress she had worn to the meeting and into a simple button-down shirt and trousers. The shirt was too big and hung from her body like a sack and the pants too long, but she looked comfortable enough in the loaned clothing. A good sign, as far as Lexa was concerned. One that proved she was beginning to adjust to life away from Keep Griffin.

Clarke looked at the teacup and watched as Lexa shifted it away from her chest and back into her hand, her eyes dropping skeptically as the pale wilderness tea was offered out to her. “What?” she asked, taking the cup and smelling the tea. “No wine?”

“I didn’t think wine was appropriate,” Lexa said. “But if you’d rather—”

“No,” Clarke cut. “This is fine. Thank you.”

Lexa pursed her lips and swallowed the stones damming her throat. This was why she found speaking to Clarke so difficult. Conversation that was not necessary for the forward momentum of their new government came difficult to her. How was she supposed to connect with a Noble? Especially one as powerful as a Griffin.

House Griffin was the third most powerful house in the Final Empire, and despite the collapse of power and social hierarchy that came with the defeat of the Lord Ruler – the immortal dictator who ruled the lands before Lexa – House Griffin had maintained much of their former influence. Perhaps that was due to Lady Abigail, who was as tenacious as she was respected among the other nobles. Perhaps it was simply because the Nobles refused to abandon the ways of which Lexa intended to dismantle.

It didn’t help that Lexa’s original plans included the public execution of all ten of Luthadel’s most powerful houses. Cut the rot off at the source, as it were. That would have meant that Clarke too would have faced the executioner’s blade if Lexa had followed through with her original plan. Instead, somehow, she ended up inviting Clarke into Indra’s shop and home; the safe house of her crew.

By now a sufferable and awkward silence had wedged its way between them. Lexa looking at Clarke, Clarke looking dubiously at her tea. Neither of them acknowledging the pregnant pause that continued to swell between them.

Clarke, submitting to the silence, finally sipped at her tea.

Her nose wrinkled, eyes pressing shut and it looked to Lexa as if she were wiping the taste that lingered on her tongue onto the roof of her mouth. “What is this?” she gaped, pulling away from the teacup. She looked at the pale liquid again, her nose still wrinkled, and took another tentative sip.

“Tea,” Lexa explained, sipping at her own cup.

Clarke’s face pursed at the tea again.

Lexa breathed a laugh and said, “I’ll grab you a cup of wine.”

Clarke followed her back through the shop and took a seat near the fire as she waited for Lexa to swap the tea with wine. Upon receiving her cup, she smiled brightly and breathed a thank you as she tipped the cup towards her lips. Lexa then took a seat across form Clarke and, after finishing her tea, poured herself a cup of wine in hopes that the alcohol and their place by the fire might stimulate something that resembled a real conversation.

If she could not do that with the closest thing she had to an ally in the Noble ranks, she had no right to rule.

“Your father,” she began, grasping at the first thing she could think to talk about. “He had quite the collection of wine. I assume it is through him you developed the palette as well?”

Clarke squinted at her. “All noble families drink wine,” she said. Her eyes fell to the cup and she swirled the liquid lazily in her hands, watching the red run around the rim of her cup. “I drink because it’s what we do when the situation calls for it. And the situation as of late always calls for it.”

Lexa bit down on her cheeks and sipped at the full-bodied wine gifted to her by Lady Abigail. “I suppose you’re right. I am sorry that you feel you are more a captive than a guest. It was not my intention.”

“It’s not just that,” Clarke admitted. “It’s everything. All of this. Being here, the rebellion, my father dying... the coalition.”

“I see.” Lexa took another drink from her cup and as she swallowed it, she felt as if she understood why it was Clarke had spent the majority of her time draining the stuff.

It felt childish to be drinking away problems as minuscule as these, especially when there were people still freezing, starving, and working themselves to death for the comfort of the people who could afford to drink away their problems. Part of her felt compelled to remind Clarke of this, but she too felt the weight of loss against the noble houses, the stress of failure that loomed eternally overhead. Alcohol was strangely therapeutic.

Lexa scratched at the cup in her hand, her nails running over the imperfections of its cast. “I don’t consider the outcome of today’s meeting to be a victory for myself,” she admitted after a prolonged, uncomfortable silence settled between them. “The finer details of politics and noblemen... they aren’t exactly my strong suit.”

Clarke drained her cup and stood up to pour herself another.

“I hate to admit it – admitting anything that pertains to weakness is the last thing I should be doing right now – but it’s true. Your mother sending you here, trusting me with your safety, it’s the best defense I have against the people who threaten the freedom of my people. I can’t do this alone – I'll fail if I do. I need us to be allies, Clarke.”

“We are allies,” Clarke said, filling her cup. “I signed that document officially aligning House Griffin with the New Royal Court.”

Lexa shook her head. “No. That's not enough. I need you to trust me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the information she was just given, but she decided that drinking was good enough. 

Lexa didn’t say anything. In fact, she hardly even brought her eyes up from the cup in her own hands to look at Clarke. She just sat there, swirling the red in her goblet, lips pursed, staring off into the depths of nothingness while Clarke drank enough for the both of them. 

Conversation had always been strained and difficult when it came to Lexa. Or really, when it came to anyone in Clarke’s case. She wasn’t as articulate and calm as her friend Wells Jaha or as passionate as Octavia. Words came and went from her mind without ever coming to form on her lips and when it came to Lexa, things only ever managed to get worse. 

She wasn’t sure if it was because Lexa was Skaa, or because she was some super terrifying god killer, or if it was because she still felt inclined to blame Lexa for her father’s death, but something stopped her from ever crossing into the territory of comfortable conversation with the woman. It was as if everything that came out of her mouth had to be sharp and smart, dipped in poison and ready to strike. She knew that behavior wasn’t cohesive to their newfound alliance, but she had genuinely tried her best at being the ally to the Skaa rebellion her father would have wanted her to be. And now, with Lexa admitting to her failure and a formal profession of an absolute need for Clarke to be more voluntary and productive with their alliance moving forward, Clarke was unsure of how to proceed. 

As far as she was able to tell, she had been forthcoming with her wishes, consistent in her appearances and participation of required meetings with the Lexa’s crew, and accepting of the changes that had come with living amongst Skaa in the slums of Luthadel. Talking with Lexa was difficult, but they managed to get their work done and stay both civil and professional; an attitude she was even able to extend to the most frustrating and unresponsive members of the crew. So, what then, Clarke wondered, was the problem? 

With no solution willing to present itself, Clarke drank in silence and, after a while, Lexa started drinking too. And as the night wore on both women fell under the influence of their warm, spiced wine, and the layers of difficulty began to peel away. Lexa, whom Clarke believed may have never been much of a drinker, relaxed. Clarke relaxed. And as they shared the last drops of the bottle between one another, Lexa pouring equal amounts into both her own and Clarke’s cup with a gentle chivalry about her, conversations began to flow – almost effortlessly – between them. 

"You know he’s is a Rioter, right?” 

Lexa blinked, almost stupidly, at Clarke. “Lord Pike? Really?” 

“Really,” Clarke said. 

“He’s a good one, too,” Clarke explained. “I don’t suppose you’re as good at burning Zinc or Brass as you are Steel and Iron, are you?” 

It was no surprise or shock to anyone the skill Lexa had when it came to the Metallic Arts. She had to be, given the circumstances. Most Allomancers were noble, as it was a skill inherited from noble blood. To add to it, training an Allomancer was usually conducted in secret so that the Allomantic skills of each house could be used as tools and weapons in the endless battle for wealth and status. No one would train a Skaa. In fact, discovering a Skaa with Allomantic abilities meant killing that Skaa. Skaa with noble blood, no matter how little, was illegal under the Lord Ruler’s reign. That meant that Lexa had either discovered and honed her skills on her own, or found other Skaa Mistings to teach her their trade. And not just teach, master. Because in a thousand years, only Lexa was powerful enough to turn the course on an immortal man’s empire. 

“That’s what I have Lincoln for,” Lexa said, smiling as she sipped her wine. 

That was the other thing that made Lexa different from most Allomancers. She was a Mistborn; able to burn and utilize all forms of Allomantic metals. Most Allomancers were Mistings and, as such, were only able to use one type of metal to their advantage. In the case of Lincoln, a soother, he could burn brass, and in turn he could dampen and influence the emotions of people around him. It was the Allomantic pair, and direct opposite, of Lord Charles Pike’s ability to enflame one’s emotions. 

“And Wells,” Clarke said, remembering her friend’s ability. 

“Is he as good a Soother as Pike is a Rioter?” 

Clarke shook her head. “No, probably not. But if I asked him to try and counter Pike’s influence, I'm sure he would.” 

“If what Octavia said about Wells is true, I’m inclined to believe he would do anything you asked him to.” 

Clarke felt her features flush and she quickly dipped behind her cup, thankful for the warmth of wine already in her cheeks. It was true that she had a particularly public relationship with Wells Jaha. Growing up their parents pushed them towards marriage for the sake of political alliances. The first and third most powerful houses, bound together by the marriage of their children. It would have been unstoppable. House Griffin would have ascended in power, overtaking House Wallace, but Clarke never could make herself do it. 

She loved Wells, that was never debated. But she loved him differently than he loved her. Sometimes, Clarke wondered if the way he loved her was just the result of years of telling him how he was supposed to act and feel around her. If he was just complying to the demands of his house – even if he wasn’t aware that he was doing it. 

They often attended balls together, at least up until the last year or so of the Final Empire, where Wells presented Clarke with a handkerchief (a symbol of the nobles that stated when someone was seriously courting another for their hand in marriage). As a result, Clarke realized finitely that her feelings for Wells were not that of his own for her, and their time together diminished to almost nothing at all. Clarke had then told Octavia (under the guise of Aranea Brekken) about this at one of the balls she attended when she asked Clarke about why it was, she – a woman of one of the most powerful houses – attended these parties alone. 

“Wells is a friend,” Clarke said. 

Lexa dipped her chin and set her now empty wine cup on the table. Her cheeks were warm and red from the several cups of wine she had consumed over the hours, her eyes heavy and lidded. But even with the effects of the alcohol, Lexa kept a clear head about her. She only had one thing on her mind – always – and Clarke couldn’t help but find her tenacity and dedication admirable. 

It reminded her a bit of her father. 

“But you don’t always see eye to eye,” Lexa said. “That’s the problem.” 

It was true. She and Wells were – especially as of late – known to have their differences. And of the four Noble ambassadors elected to Lexa’s council, he was the closest to an ally Clarke was given. Pike was willing to work with her family, but he was a stubborn man who Clarke’s parents often argued with on several key issues. Problematically, his ability as a rioter was nearly unmatched in the noble circles, and with eight ambassadors of the Skaa and thieving variety unaware and unused to the subtle touches of Pike’s Allomantic abilities, he posed a serious threat via emotional manipulation. Cage Wallace on the other hand... 

She wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

Cage had several rumors in circulation about his plans and skills ranging from the truth of his Allomantic abilities to a supposed secret alliance that went against the political agenda of his own father. At one point, rumor was, Cage was responsible for the assassination of his own father; although no one ever had any proof of this. When to Cage, no one ever had proof of anything. 

What Clarke did know, was that not a single person she had recommended to Lexa as the most civil and productive members of the noble circle was chosen in the end. And trying to get Houses Pike, Wallace, Griffin, and Jaha to agree on anything was going to be an impossible task. A fact of which Lexa seemed aware of as well. 

“I don’t see eye to eye with anyone” Clarke said dully. “I thought you knew that.” 

Lexa blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “None of you nobles ever agree on anything, I know. But an alliance of values from people of the same court is a powerful weapon. Especially when the court in question is the nobility. The Skaa, while most likely uniform in their desires and needs, are meek and quiet by comparison to both my crew and the nobility. They will likely not express these desires unless questioned about them directly. So, having nobility whose agenda and desires reflect that of the Skaa’s best interests is the best way to encourage them to stand up for themselves.” 

“That’s asking a lot from people who have never once showed any interest or concern for the common Skaa,” Clarke said. 

“Unfortunately, you’re not wrong. None of your people have any idea what it is like to live as one of mine. What is it your people say? “They’re just Skaa”?” 

Clarke is pretty certain that Lexa is trying to prove a point, but all it does is light a competitive fire within her. Sure, she’s never lived as a Skaa, but her time as nobility was limited now and even then, it was spent here in the Skaa slums, with Skaa. If she could take the steps needed to come this far, what was stopping her from understanding the Skaa in a way that no one before her (save maybe her father) had ever done? 

“So, show me, then,” she said. “Show me what it’s like to live as a Skaa.” 

“You couldn’t even drink the tea I brought and we’re well off Skaa,” Lexa challenged, stifling a laugh at Clarke’s surge of confidence. “What makes you think you can handle seeing what real Skaa live like?” 

“I want to learn,” Clarke said. “Show me.” 

* * *

The next morning, ghastly hungover, Clarke and Lexa made their way to a plantation owned by House Collins, halfway between the cities of Fellise and Luthadel. 

The plantation was small by comparison to those further away from the capital, but made up for this with their location and swift deliveries into the more populous cities. From what Clarke remembered about House Collins, they were quite well off for lesser Nobles, and the young heir, Finn, was often sent into the city of Luthadel for balls and parties on behalf of his house. Finn himself was a kind man, and Clarke had joined him for dinner on several occasions at the Collins Manor as an honored guest. But her experience on the plantation as a guest to lesser nobles had nothing to do with the trip Lexa had sent them on today. 

Today, they were to have a meal in the hovels with the two hundred or so Skaa who had yet to find the bravery and confidence needed to leave the plantation that had enslaved them for their entire lives. 

Several members of Lexa’s crew came along with them, most riding via horseback alongside the carriage that Clarke and Lexa had taken themselves. There was Anya, of course, who still did nothing but scowl at Clarke and whisper things into Lexa’s ear; Gustus, the man who drove the carriage and was responsible for bringing Clarke to the Skaa thieving crew in the first place; Indra, who had been working to encourage the Skaa to leave the plantation for weeks to no success; and a young boy of whom, until now, Clarke had never seen before today. 

Lexa liked to keep an eye on Aden almost as much as she had Octavia keep an eye on Clarke. She often peered through the velvet drapes of their carriage, watching the boy trot alongside them, her brow furrowed and eyes squinting in the bright morning light. Her skin practically glowed under the sun, and Clarke found it difficult to look at Lexa when the red ring of light encapsulated her regal form. 

That the thing Clarke had begun to learn about Lexa. Royalty, which sat heavy on her shoulders (as it would for anyone), radiated from every fiber of her being; like putting on a glove stitched for her own hand. As if she were born to carry the weight of the world. 

“Who’s the boy?” Clarke asked when Lexa pulled away from the window the thick drapes sealed them off from the ashen world outside. 

Lexa shifted her weight and crossed one leg over the other. Her chin found purchase against her knuckles; her elbow pressed into the side of the carriage lazily. “You mean Aden?” she asked. 

Clarke nodded. 

“He’s my brother,” Lexa said. “I’ve got him training under Anya.” 

“So he’s a Tineye?” Clarke asked, to which Lexa nodded back wordlessly. 

A Tineye was, in many ways, one of the most useful Mistings. The name derived from the fact that the metal source ingested and burned by a Tineye was Tin, and the effect was an increased level of sensory awareness. Vision in particular, strengthened itself immensely, and was the most commonly used sense by an Allomancer burning Tin. But Tin affected more than just the eyes. It affected one’s hearing, sense of smell, touch, and taste as well. Because of this, most Noble families kept a Tineye on payroll for the collection and trade of secrets and rumors. 

Anya herself, from what Clarke had gathered, was the best Tineye in the Skaa underground and her services were far from cheap. Training under her made sense but, Clarke wondered – if Lexa had Aden training under Anya, how much better of a Tineye was she than the Queen herself? 

“Anya must be quite the misting,” Clarke mused. 

Lexa nodded again. “She trained me,” she said, matter-of-fact. “And there’s no one better to train him.” 

“She doesn’t like me very much,” Clarke said, thinking about Anya now. 

A ghost of a smile tugged at Lexa’s lips. She closed her eyes, and with a glimmer of amusement she said, “No, she doesn’t.” 

Clarke had hoped for elaboration on the fact, but Lexa seemed uninterested in carrying on the conversation, and chose instead to peer out the window again. 

Talking with Lexa was easy when there was wine to be shared between them, but she knew that hoping for a goblet of spiced wine or even a flagon of Ale while dining with plantation Skaa was hoping for the impossible. So instead, they had gone back to the jarring awkwardness of being forcefully polite and correct with one another. This was then made even worse by the fact that Clarke’s head was spinning with dehydration as a result of last night’s events, and Lexa appeared as if she were fairing no better. When she wasn’t checking on Aden, she was resting her head on her hands with her eyes closed, taking long and steady breaths as if every bump and notch in the road were attempting to throw her off course. 

The rest of the carriage ride took place in relative silence. Only the sound of horse hooves and wooden wheels over dirt roads and cobblestone breaking through the cumbersome silence. Occasionally, Clarke would catch Lexa looking side-longed at her; eyes heavy-lidded and bored. Other times, Lexa would ignore her outright; fiddle with the dirt under her nails or stare out the window. Clarke on the other hand kept her fingers bunched tightly around the loose fabric of her dress and sometimes she would tangle her lower lip between her teeth and chew idly on the chapped skin that had developed there since first coming to live in the slums of Luthadel. 

It was Gustus who finally broke the silence between them sometime later to announce that they had arrived at their destination. 

“Thank you Gustus,” Lexa told him as she departed the carriage. She turned to Clarke then and offered her hand. “Are you ready, Lady Clarke?” 

Clarke peered behind Lexa to the plantation that lie beyond the carriage walls. 

The fields were vast with rows upon rows of red and orange and yellow stemmed crops poking out from the ashy soil. There were dozens, if not a hundred or more, of feeble Skaa dressed in dirty brown smocks, all hunched over the tender crops, wiping away the ash and preventing the sprouts from becoming buried under the light ash fall that fell from the sky. Clarke noticed a sluggishness to their efforts, but more than she noticed a quiet diligence about them. A sort of determination to finish their work without complaint or punishment. Atop a hill at the far end of the plantation sat a glorious Manor within stone walls and an iron gate. The inner roadways were bordered with aspen trees and the steps that led to the mansion itself were pristine white marble, having clearly been swept and scrubbed at least twice a day. 

Before, when Clarke had visited House Collins, she was brought straight to the mansion, and looked upon the fields from the comfortable distance of the Manor balcony with Lord Collins at her side. She hadn’t thought about the Skaa once then. She was too busy marveling at the woodwork of his home, the beauty of the Corinthian columns, the quality and freshness of food freshly harvested. Now she looked upon the manor from the other side of the fields, and Clarke felt a pang of guilt building in her chest for the way she had ignored the realities of the Skaa who had contributed to all the pleasures and wonders presented to her as a guest of the young Lord. 

Clarke took Lexa’s hand and was guided out into the light ash without a parasol to protect her. Lexa had requested she dress for her status as Lady of House Griffin for their trip, but she had also made sure to remove many of the comforts that once came without thought or question in her past. 

“It is important that the Skaa see your status and power,” Lexa had told her when selecting the outfit she was to wear for their trip. “But is equally important that they see you relinquish the comforts of that power.” 

Clarke dusted her shoulder, smears of ash linger on her skin, and sighed with defeat. There would be no salvaging this dress after today. Not that any of that mattered anymore. Half the time she found it far easier to dress in simple clothes than complex dresses and gowns in the slums. It wasn’t as if she had a reputation to uphold at Indra’s shop; they all knew exactly who she was. Best her better outfits be saved for use in situations like these; where her influence and power actually mattered. 

While they were here to fulfill Clarke’s slightly drunken and feverishly stubborn request to better understand the life of a Skaa, there was another reason she was here as well. She needed to convince Lord Collins to pledge allegiance to Lexa’s court, or at least provide the Skaa still working under him a reasonable wage and improved living conditions. She had hoped that this would go relatively smoothly, given what she knew about the Collins House, but Lord Collins did not step from the cover of his patio to greet Lexa and her crew. Instead he watched them with a scowl on his face, and his son Finn at his side. 

“Lord Collins doesn’t seem happy that we’re here,” Lexa mused as she looked across the field at details too small and far away for eyes unenhanced by Tin to see. “I don’t suppose that has anything to do with you, does it, Indra?” 

Indra, who had just unseated herself from the saddle of her horse, frowned. “Stubborn and a coward,” she said, squinting at the mansion. 

Lexa smiled, a breathy laugh escaping her lips as a gentle breeze ran through the braids and tangles of her wild hair. “Good thing we brought us a secret weapon then.” 

Clarke looked at the ground, feeling immediately pressured and discouraged by the mention of her presence here as a ‘secret weapon’ since she didn’t at all feel like one. In fact, she felt like her presence among the lesser lords of the countryside might actually wind up being counterproductive to Lexa’s goal of finally liberating the plantation Skaa here before they left. 

She raised her gaze again and looked around the crew that Lexa had brought with her. In some ways, all of their selections made sense. Indra, who had come and gone from this very plantation as an envoy for the royal court, made sense. Anya and Aden as Lexa’s right hand and literal family made sense. Gustus, being her carriage driver, made sense. However, wouldn’t have made more sense to bring a Soother? Someone who could pull at the frays of conversation and emotion to manipulate the conversation in her favor? Or was Lexa planning on doing that herself? 

Apparently, Clarke had let her thoughts run rampant because the next thing she realized, Aden was calling out, “Lady Clarke,” and waving his arms over his head several yards away. “Lady Clarke! The hovels are this way!” 

She looked back at the Manor at the top of the hill, at the small, shadowy figures who’s faces she couldn’t make out, and she wondered what Finn must have thought about her. 

* * *

Lexa watched, admittedly smug, as Clarke smelled the semi-rotten, vegetable dappled water that was to be her meal for the fourth time instead of eating it. 

“Oh. Shut up,” Clarke told her, scowling as she looked up from her bowl. 

Lexa pursed her lips to fight the smile that pulled on her features. “I haven’t said anything,” Lexa said from behind her own bowl as she scooped another soggy vegetable into her spoon and shoved it into her mouth. 

They had to wait several hours after arriving at the plantation to be served their meal, as most of the Skaa here still worked nonstop from sun up to sun down. It wasn’t until the mists began to creep and swirl in through the plantation that the Skaa retired to their shabby little shacks for the night, and only then did any of them begin preparing the meal that they would all share. 

During the hours they spent waiting, Clarke was given the opportunity to walk from hovel to hovel and inspect the living quarters often provided to the Skaa who lived outside of the city. Lexa followed behind her, watching as the Noblewoman’s expression went through a myriad of changes as she explored the Skaa worker’s homes. She asked very few questions, often times opening her mouth only for it to snap shut again without finding the words that properly expressed what was going through her mind. She touched their beds, burlap sacks that laid on the ground that were undoubtedly infested with fleas; felt the thin, holey fabric that made up their blankets; and felt the chill of the breeze as it rocked and ravaged the tiny shack that approximately two dozen Skaa called home. But none of that seemed to impact Clarke the way watching dozens of Skaa children wobble and limp their way back to the stacks of hovels did. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Lexa told her. “Skaa work from the moment they are able to understand basic instruction. Assuming they even live that long.” 

Lexa later introduced Clarke to the Skaa elder, a man named Dalas, while Gustus, Indra, and Anya helped the Skaa workers prepare dinner by tearing apart vegetables and dumping them into a pot of ashy water. Aden joined the other children at Lexa’s request, patching up cuts and bruises with clean cloth and an herbal salve Clarke’s mother had concocted for her; something that seemed to put Clarke enough at ease to pay attention to what was unfurling around her. No one wanted to bring Clarke here and have her be too distracted to be properly affected and introduced to the realities of country Skaa. 

Lexa asked the children to tell Clarke stories of their work, their punishments for their wrongdoings – what was even considered a wrongdoing by the standards of the Lords and Ladies of House Collins. To Lexa’s surprise, Clarke listened respectfully, not interjecting with ifs or buts, and Lexa watched as Clarke’s expression continued to shift and change as each story and tale was presented to her. 

Dinner was served shortly thereafter and since then Clarke had been silently scolding her bowl instead of eating it, watching with bewilderment as the Skaa gobbled down the water-based soup as if it were a meal for a queen. As it were, in today’s case. 

While Clarke eyes her soup with disdain, Lexa began helping herself to a second bowl while listening to stories exchanged by the Skaa fieldworkers about the rumors they had heard regarding her ascension. Most, if not everything they had heard, was untrue. They seemed to think Lexa some type of God, able to do things that no one, not even Allomancers, were capable of. 

“Is it true you killed a mist wraith?” asked a young boy excitedly. 

Dalas frowned from across the room and said, “Solan, that’s enough.” 

Lexa smiled at the boy and then took her seat on the ground next to Aden and Dalas, engorging herself on her second bowl of the watered based vegetable soup. “Dalas,” she began, sitting cross-legged and setting the bowl in her lap. “Do you mind if I ask why it is so many Skaa are still doing field work for Lord Collins? Indra told me that not many of the people here seem interested in moving to the capital for work.” 

Dalas chewed on a vegetable and closed his wrinkly, sunken eyes. “Hard to believe it’s possible,” he mused, opening his eyes again to look at Lexa. “A Skaa queen with a noble consort—” 

Clarke, who had just resigned to tasting the broth, choked. 

“She’s not my consort,” Lexa said, eyeing Clarke as the woman tapped her chest and tried to regain her composure. 

“Pardon my bluntness, but if she’s not your consort, then what is she doing here?” 

Lexa pointed at Clarke with her spoon and said, “She’s here as a noblewoman to learn what it’s like to live as a Skaa.” 

Dalas looked from Lexa to Clarke, his eyes bulging from his sunken features. “Mistress, I—” 

“Don’t apologize to her,” Lexa cut. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Understand?” 

Dalas paused, a look of stun painted across his face that Lexa decidedly ignored by putting her attention back on her meal. 

She scooped out another soggy vegetable from the bowl and watched from her peripherals as Clarke sipped, almost angrily, at the watery broth. Her scowl was so deep Lexa couldn’t tell if she was truly angry at Dalas for considering her Lexa’s consort, or if the expression was the result of forcing herself to ingest the food she had made such a point to try. 

Anya seemed to be thinking the same thing, or, at least she was thinking along the same lines because in that moment she drained the last of the broth from her bowl, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her tunic and said, “Thank you for the meal, Dalas.” 

Clarke glared at Anya from across their circle. She straightened her spine, and with her chin jutted in stubborn defiance, Clarke shoved a large spoonful of the soup into her mouth. She immediately pursed her lips, her brow knitting together and her nose wrinkling just slightly as she swallowed. But once the food was down Clarke went to spoon another helping into her mouth, her blue eyes staring into Anya like knives. 

Gustus burst into laughter at the sight of Clarke’s challenge, slapping the woman on the back as she swallowed back her fourth spoonful of food. “Enjoy every last bite of that, Mistress,” he beamed, to which Clarke responded with a forced smile and a pleading look in Lexa’s direction. 

To everyone’s surprise, Clarke finished the entire bowl shortly thereafter. With both pride and satisfaction, a vainglorious glow Lexa had never seen before about her, Clarke set the now empty bowl onto the ground and looked directly at Anya when she said, “Thank you for sharing your food with me, Dalas.” Then she stood up, dusted off her dress and carried the bowl over to a wooden pail filled with water where other dirty dishes had begun to pile up. 

Smiling, Lexa looked to Anya who was grumbling to something to Aden under her breath with her arms folded over her chest. 

“I must admit,” said Indra as she set down her own empty bowl. “She has been quite impressive these past few weeks. I can see why it is Octavia had taken such a liking to her.” 

Gustus nodded with agreement. “She's tenacious.” 

“And stubborn,” said Anya. 

“So are you,” Indra informed. 

The door to the hovel opened then with a wailing creek and Lexa turned her gaze from her crew to the door. Most Skaa still in the city didn’t venture out in the mists, and they were beginning to become used to the changes of Lexa’s rule. The mere idea of a Skaa walking about after dark here... she couldn’t believe that was possible. 

And she wasn’t wrong. 

Standing in the lopsided frame, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit with a bright red waistcoat, was Finn Collins, heir to the Collins house. He had long brown hair that reached to his chin and matching dark brown eyes that stared into the hovel with horror. Not, from what Lexa could tell, at the Skaa. At Clarke. 

“Clarke,” he said, ignoring the immediate cower of the Skaa in the hovel, many of which were backing up to the far end of the building in a desperate attempt to put distance between them and the creeping mists that curled and tangled around Finn’s feet. “You’re here.” 

Clarke set down the bowl she had been holding and turned to look at Finn in the doorway. “Finn?” 

Lexa sprang to her feet, her fingers brushing against the Boxings in her coin purse at her hip. Anya and Aden too scrambled to their feet, both reaching for knives shoving Dalas and other Skaa behind them. 

“What are you doing here?” Finn asked, stepping inside the hovel. 

Lexa stepped forward and held out a hand to stop Finn from stepping closer. “She’s here as my guest,” Lexa said, injecting herself in their conversation. “If you’re going to join us then close the door. Otherwise, leave.” 

Finn looked at Lexa with a knit brow and said, “My father said you killed the Lord Ruler. That you’re supposed to be our new leader or something. Is that true?” 

This time, Clarke answered on Lexa’s behalf. “It is,” she said. 

“Shut the door,” Lexa commanded. “Or leave us.” 

He looked at the door behind him and then back to Lexa. “What does it matter?” 

“Finn,” Clarke urged. “Just... shut the door.” 

With a look of hesitance about him, Finn shut the door and shuffled inside. He kept his arms pinned at his sides, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, and grit his teeth as he carefully placed his steps in his trek towards Clarke. 

Clarke frowned at this and gestured to her dress, which was now as covered in ash as it was dirt. “Honestly, Finn.” 

Lexa shared a look with Anya and turned back to where Finn was delicately approaching Clarke. 

“Afraid you’ll get dirt on your shoes, Nobleman?” Anya prodded, a toothy, proud grin on her face. 

Finn glowered, glaring at Anya with that sort of side-longed stare of disapproval that Noblemen often gave to Skaa when passing over them. 

Indra stood, walked across the room and began filling a bowl with food. Stretching out her arm, she offered the bowl in the young lord’s direction and asked, “Care to join us?” 

He looked at the bowl. “I'll pass,” he said, holding up a hand. 

Clarke puffed her chest. “I ate it,” she said. 

Lexa smiled and gestured for Indra to offer the bowl again. “Please, Nobleman. Join us.” 

“If you’re hungry, let’s go back to the manor. I’ll have something brought to the dining hall.” He turned to Clarke and smiled. “I can arrange for a change of clothes for you as well.” 

Clarke looked down at her dress as if noticing the thin layer of grime that had built up for the first time, but before she had a chance to respond, Lexa interjected. 

“Lady Clarke looks beautiful as is. Don’t you agree, Lord Collins?” 

“Of course, I agree,” Finn defended. “But don’t _you_ agree that a lady as fair as this might find herself more comfortable in a clean dress?” 

Lexa looked to Clarke and dipped her head towards the man questioning her wishes and comfort. “Clarke,” she asked 

“I’m fine,” Clarke answered. “I promise.” 

Finn sucked in a breath and took a step back, his eyes moving from Clarke to Lexa, his expression shifting from gentle concern to unbridled hatred; challenging her as if to say, “is she forcing you to say that?” 

Lexa kept pensive eyes on Clarke, hoping for some sort of answer in her body language. This was not exactly what she had hoped for when bringing Clarke to the Collins estate, but it was capable of resulting in the outcome they were searching for none the less. It all depended on Clarke. She had done well thus far, better than Lexa had hoped or planned with the Skaa. But she hadn’t planned for Clarke to know the Collins’ well enough for one of them to come and attempt to ‘rescue’ her from Lexa’s crew. 

It was hard enough on the Skaa here for one noble to sit among them. Most of them, while curious, were terrified of her presence. No one had missed the flinches and cowering that came with Clarke moving too fast or too close, not even Clarke. The addition of this man, Finn Collins, a man who held personal responsible for the state of the people living in these hovels... it wasn’t good. Clarke would have to play the cards just right and Lexa wasn’t entirely sure that Clarke even knew what game it was she was playing here. 

Then again, no one was better than the nobles when it came to secrets, lies, and rumors. They could play any game if it were a game of wits and wagers because it was par the course for nobles to do so. Obligators, a sort of government enforcer, became commonly used in the noble circles as a sort of sign of honesty and trust for that exact reason. Without them, nothing said or done could ever be taken as genuine. All Lexa could hope for in the end was that Clarke could be trusted to follow through with her alliance to Lexa, that she knew what she was doing, and that she was better at it than Lord Collins and his son. 

Lexa pursed her lips, watching as the tension in the hovel rose to fanatical heights. Indra with her peace offering, Finn with his divisive gaze, Clarke with the power to turn the tides at the flick of her wrist. Clarke, the key to everything, about to finally pick her side. 

* * *

Lexa, Anya and Aden could all hear every word of Clarke’s conversation with Finn outside the hovel. She considered for a moment respecting the privacy of the two nobles heirs and allowing them a moment to speak to one another alone, but decided in the end that the best course of action was to make clear to everyone just how capable Lexa and her crew were. 

“Can we just... talk for a minute?” Finn had pleaded. “Outside?” 

“You can,” Lexa told him, her arms crossed over her chest. “If you think that’ll help.” Clarke then shot Lexa a look and Lexa shrugged back saying, “I won’t pretend like I don’t have the capability, Clarke.” 

“What does that mean?” Finn asked. “What is she talking about?” 

“Clarke is under my protection, Lord Collins. I suggest you figure out what that means very quickly.” 

Finn had looked at her with astonishment, his eyes scanning her desperately as if looking for signs that she were lying. But Lexa’s face only split into a challenging smirk and Finn was forced to acknowledge the truth. He then grabbed Clarke by the hand and pulled her out of the hovel, slamming the door shut as he marched them away. 

A few seconds later, Clarke yelled, “Finn, stop,” and she must have wrenched her hand free of his grasp because the two of them had been there quietly arguing ever since. 

Lexa had her back against the wall nearest the door, Anya and Aden on either side of her, her eyes closed and her chin dipped. She listened intensely with tin enhanced ears for any sign that action on her part be necessary, but so far, the conversation seemed to revolve entirely around Finn Collin’s bewilderment at Clarke for abandoning her people in favor of Skaa thieves. 

“She shouldn’t even exist,” Finn told her, keeping his voice a harsh whisper as if it were enough to keep Lexa from tuning in. “Skaa can’t be Allomancers. Not unless they have noble blood, and everyone knows that’s illegal.” 

“It _was_ illegal,” Clarke said back. “Things are different now.” 

“What? Because a Skaa says so? Who put her in charge anyway? Not any of us. We’re the ones with the power, Clarke. Not her.” 

“If you want to challenge her for the throne, then be my guest." 

Lexa opened her eyes and caught Anya smirking at this, clearly amused by the thought of Finn Collins attempting to challenge Lexa to a duel of some sort. 

“I should warn you though,” Clarke continued. “She won’t hesitate to kill you if you do.” 

As far as Lexa was aware, Finn Collins wasn’t an Allomancer at all. He had no skills in the Metallic Arts that could be used against her. So, what would he attempt to challenger her with, a dueling cane? A whip? His fists? 

“I’m not going to challenge her to a fight,” Finn said. “If she’s really a Mistborn, the only way to take her down is with another Mistborn. Clarke, think about it. If—” 

“There’s nothing to think about,” Clarke cut. “You let your Skaa leave this place. You pay the ones that stay. Improve their living conditions. You do that, and she doesn’t come back here and kill you for sport. Because I promise you, the only reason she hasn’t done that yet is because she’s chosen to give you a chance to change on your own.” 

“So, she just expects my father to go broke? For Skaa?” 

Lexa pushed away from the wall and rose to her feet. She padded away the dirt from her trousers, nodded to Anya and Aden in silent order for them to stay put, and marched out of the door. She had had enough of this round about conversation, listening to them circle the same subject over and over without making any progress. it might not go over well with the Mistress of House Griffin, but Lexa saw no other option now. It was time to use force. 

She burned the pewter in her internal reserves, flaring it as she stomped her foot into the ground and rushed across the field with inhuman speed. She grabbed Finn by his collared shirt, squeezing the fabric tightly in her fingers as she pulled his weight up and off the ground, his feet dangling helplessly as his hands gripped hers in a futile attempt to escape. 

“You prefer death, then?” Lexa reached into her coin purse and pulled out a handful of coins. She pressed them into Finn’s chest, a few stragglers falling to the ground around them. “Death is preferable to treating Skaa with an ounce of civility or respect?” 

“Lexa!” 

“That’s not what I said,” Finn defended. “You’re putting words in my mouth.” 

“So, then I didn’t hear you try to convince Clarke to assemble the Noble Allomancers to strike me down?” 

Finn’s face drained of color. “My father,” he choked out. “It’s not me you have to convince, it’s him.” 

“I think a dead heir sends a clear message, don’t you?” 

Clarke grabbed Lexa’s arm, her fingers squeezing around her bicep. “Lexa, don’t,” she pleaded. “There’s got to be another way. Give him a chance to talk to his father, please.” 

She turned, her eyes meeting Clarke’s. That potent, sapphire blue sparkling with tears only just beginning to well in her eyes. She probably hadn’t even noticed it yet. But Lexa, with tin flowing through her, saw everything. 

Her grip on Finn slipped open, the nobleman falling from her hands and back onto the ground. She heard his body thump, heard the groan of pain that bellowed from his direction, the coins that scattered to the ground around them, but her eyes stayed locked on Clarke. “If not him, Clarke, then who?” 


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke did what she could to help Finn and his father, but in the end, Lord Patrick Collins was personally executed by Lexa herself on a Wednesday after he failed to comply with the Queen’s demands for Skaa worker reform. In his place, the newly appointed Lord Finn Collins, with the assistance of House Reyes, was given three weeks to improve the conditions of his plantation before Lexa too, came for him, This put the Noble houses in Luthadel at immense levels of unease and distrust, and fueled hours upon hours of arguments at the meetings Lexa held between herself and her ambassadors. 

Cage Wallace was the most unaffected of the lot despite the fact this major argument for his appointment to Lexa’s court was his influence over the lesser lords in the outer dominances. He went about the meetings as if nothing had happened, and maybe when it came to him, nothing had. The Collins house had never allied themselves with Wallace officially, they were allied publicly with Reyes and Jordan. Especially Reyes. And that, looked very bad for Clarke, whose own house was also allied with Reyes. 

Raven had been in a state of pure fury when it came to Clarke since the execution, having come to the conclusion that Lexa’s execution of Lord Collins was no different than the Lord Ruler’s execution of Clarke’s father. Clarke, however, was adamant in her belief that there was a crucial difference between the two. The Lord Ruler used the Steel Inquisitors to execute traitors, Lexa, swung the blade herself. Clarke tried her best to explain this to Raven, but Raven refused to even look at Clarke. Talking with her, was completely off the table. So, Clarke communicated with Raven by relaying messages to her mother or Lord Marcus Kane. And that, of course, only managed to make things worse. 

A divide was forming in the houses that once allied themselves so strongly. Lord Charles Pike was becoming a clear favorite among the noble families for his vocal anger and willingness to argue with Lexa where no one else would. As far as he saw, there was no difference in a Lexa leading them if she was as willing to kill as her predecessor. This opinion was greatly shared with Hannah Green, Bellamy Blake, and Jasper Jordan. The only thing that kept Raven from adding her own house to the budding alliance, was Clarke’s mother. 

Lady Abigail was insistent that a show of force towards a house unwilling to participate was completely with the bounds of a just and clear-headed leader, especially when the Lord’s son, Finn Collins, was spared so that the house may have a chance to correct their wrongdoings. This opinion was shared by Lord Marcus Kane and Lord Thelonious Jaha, and as Raven looked up to both Marcus and Abigail as a newly appointed head of house herself, she reluctantly put herself in the bounds of this opinion in spite of her feelings towards Clarke for allowing it to happen at all. 

Cage and Lord Emerson were decidedly unaligned in the event. As far as they were concerned, Lord Collins was a greedy fool who got what he deserved just as much as Queen Lexa made a decision that proved she was unfit to rule. Normally, being the minority of the group, their opinions would have been written off as ridiculous, but unfortunately the two lords did hold control over the majority of the lesser houses in the outer dominances, and as such, their voice was loudest of all. 

Because of this, meetings between the twelve ambassadors never got anywhere. No one could agree on where to start or how to proceed. The nobles were too busy arguing over if Lexa was fit to rule and if their lives were in danger simply for being born as descendants to the Lord Ruler’s supporters a thousand years ago. The four appointed members from the Underground Rebellion; Lincoln, Titus, Anya and Indra, were united in defending Lexa from the Noble’s attacks and uncertainty and thus, too busy to supply ideas and opinions on Lexa’s political agenda. While the Skaa voted representatives, Nia, Luna, Emori, and Niylah were left unable to voice their concerns in a battle for Lexa’s ability to lead. 

The worst part, Clarke had come to learn, wasn’t the lack of coordination and cooperation between the ambassadors, it was the activity happening in shadows of the mist long after the sun had set. Lexa had tried her hardest to keep the truth from her, but she returned every morning form her excursions of the night more exhausted and beaten than she had been the previous night and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was up. She was hardly ever sleeping at this point, putting herself to work as soon as she arrived back at the shop, and continuing this trend until the sun set and it was again time for her to traverse the city in the mists. 

It was clear to Clarke that Lexa had to be Pewter Dragging, a technique that pushed the body well past its physical limits, and effects were slowly taking a serious toll on the Skaa Queen. Her participation in meetings began to dwindle, and she stopped putting an end to Pike and Wallace’s endless struggle for power over Nobleman’s interests. She did, however, put an end to Octavia acting as Clarke’s shadow, instead utilizing the woman’s skills as a Coinshot during her late-night excursions with Anya and Gustus. This gave Clarke a measure of freedom she hadn’t had since first arriving, and with her own people frantic and on the verge of house wars over Lexa’s actions, Clarke decided that her best course of action was to figure out what was going on herself. 

She met with Raven, Monty, Jasper and Bellamy at Keep Blake as soon as her freedom was given to her, each of her friends embracing her upon her arrival like a long-lost family member finally returning home. 

“Thank God you’re alright,” said Bellamy as Clarke took a seat in a plush velvet chair. 

“Still can’t believe your mom would just send you away like that,” added Monty. 

“Pike’s doing everything he can to get her back," Bellamy said quickly before turning to Clarke. “I know he’s not your favorite person, Clarke, but he’s the only one who has a plan to get you back to your mother. Safe and sound.” 

Raven frowned. “Bell, I keep telling you, Abby won’t agree to any plan that puts Clarke even remotely in danger. She’s not going to go for it.” 

Bellamy opened his mouth to protest but Clarke cut him off. “I don’t want Pike’s help,” she said. “I’ll go back when it’s no longer crucial that I stay.” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy urged. “They’re using you as a bargaining chip.” 

Jasper nodded at this and said, “Just... don’t go back. It’s safer with us. Not them.” 

Part of Clarke was inclined to agree. She missed her home, her friends, her mother, more than anything in the world. Going home would be nothing short of the happiest day of her life at this point, but there was a voice in the back of her head that kept telling her to stay put. Lexa would never come after her with a show of force if she left; not after the way her execution of Patrick Collins went over at least, but Clarke still couldn’t get past the feeling that she should stay. This feeling that using her newfound freedom and trust with the Queen to abandon Lexa in her time of need was a mistake. Like she was turning her back on something important; like she was turning her back on her father. 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy tried. “We’ll protect you. Pike—” 

“No, Bellamy,” Clarke reiterated. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about breakout plans or Pike. I came here to figure out what’s happening back home with the houses.” 

Bellamy’s expression darkened and he leaned back into his chair, suddenly appalled with Clarke. “You’re on her side,” he realized. “All of this... everything that’s happening... and you’re on _her_ side.” 

“I’m not on anyone’s side, Bell,” Clarke said. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.” 

Jasper rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back, pulling out a pouch filled with leaves of Streetspice, a stimulant style drug common with Skaa that Jasper was fond of. He chewed on a few of the leaves, offered the pouch to Monty, and closed his eyes as she said, “What you think is best for everyone, and what we think is best for everyone, are very different things.” 

Intrigued, Clarke lifted a brow. “And what do _you_ think is best for everyone?” 

Raven sighed something dramatic, her eyes rolling. “Here we go.” 

“A leader that doesn’t kill people,” Jasper said. 

“By people, do you mean Noblemen? Because Skaa are people too.” 

Jasper’s eyes opened again and he rolled onto his shoulder, facing Clarke with blown pupils and slightly scaly skin. Behind him, Monty grabbed his shoulder as if trying to pull him back, but Jasper ignored this and said, “Lexa thinks the same about noblemen as we do Skaa, Clarke.” 

“Lexa is willing to do anything to ensure a better life for her people, but she hasn’t killed anyone without a reason. She gave Lord Collins days to comply with her demands and he refused them. What was she supposed to do?” Clarke argued. She felt strange, conflicted... unsure as to when this stance on the future of the Skaa became so different from that of her friends’. “Who cares if we have to give up some of our land and our money to make sure that there aren’t people dying in the streets anymore?” 

“It’s not that we’re worried about,” Bellamy said. “We’re worried that in the process of saving the Skaa, we’ll all get left for dead.” 

“Or worse,” Jasper said. “Like... actually dead.” 

Clarke kneaded the heel of her palms into her temples, a frustrated breath escaping her lips as her hands slipped down her forehead and over her eyes. She didn’t come here today to fight with her friends, she came here for answers. Answers and opinions on the matter that she hoped would have at least partially aligned with her own. 

She thought about the hovels she had visited with Lexa. The gaunt, ghosts; the shells of people that made the city Skaa look privileged and well cared for by comparison. How many of her friends had actually seen a plantation Skaa? Or even been to the outer dominances at all? How many of them had tried to drink tea made out of leaves and straw, knowing that it was a luxury that most couldn’t afford – even to stave off hunger because the food was even more expensive? 

The things Clarke had seen in her short stay with Lexa had changed her view somehow and she wondered, what had her parents seen that made them put their lives at risk so many times for the sake of saving one Skaa’s life? What had her father experienced that made him encourage the idea of a Skaa uprising? Was it the same things that Lexa had taken Clarke to see herself? Or was it something else? More importantly, how could she make her friends see it too? 

It was becoming increasingly clear to her that as several of her friends were head of their respective houses and unable to view the world with the skewed eyes and naïve, theoretical, scenarios for the future, many of them were beginning to chance their stances on the political opinions that once bound them together. Bellamy, who upon discovering he had a half-Skaa sister only a year ago, once wanted nothing more than to dismantle the system that sought to end Octavia’s life. Her crime – existing – being punishable by death, was appalling to the young heir. Now, as a Lord of his house, Bellamy showed little of that same rebellious resolve that Clarke adored so much. 

Jasper, carefree and kindhearted, who wanted the senseless killing to stop, was too busy drowning the pain that came with the death toll during the rebellion with drugs to be of any use to anyone. And worse, he was too busy worrying about the people closest to him to worry about anyone else. Meanwhile, Monty, who was still bound by the word of his mother, could do nothing to support anyone other than make sure Jasper never fell asleep on his back. Then there was Raven. Raven, who couldn’t even look at Clarke after what Lexa had done to Finn’s father. Raven, who in spite of this stood by Clarke’s family no matter what. Raven, who was more loyal to Clarke’s mother than she was to her. 

And then the realization hit her: nothing about this made her feel at home. Nothing about this made her feel safe. She felt as foreign here as she had the day she arrived at Indra’s shop, only worse because she knew these people and she knew this Keep. She had bonds and memories and promises to keep, only now they all felt like a fever dream to her. Not real, a scattered dream. 

“You’re overreacting, Jasper,” Clarke said, pushing herself out of the chair she had been sitting in. “All of you are. All Lexa wants—” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy tried. “You haven’t been here. You don’t know.” 

“No, _you_ don’t know,” she corrected hastily. 

“What don’t I know Clarke? Because you know as well as anyone here how I feel about the Lord Ruler’s laws.” 

“When it comes to your sister, yeah,” Clarke said. “But you hardly know her and you definitely don’t get along. And do you know why? Because your only concern when it comes to the Skaa is her. What about everyone else, Bellamy? What about the Skaa that aren’t Octavia?” 

Bellamy looked at her, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line, his eyes narrow and cold. It was unbelievable to her, the way he looked at her now when not so long ago they stood united on nearly every front. Something had changed since becoming a lord, Clarke couldn’t place just what, but it was wasn’t just Bellamy who had undergone the change. All the new lords, from Bellamy Blake to Cage Wallace, had changed with the appointment of their rule. 

Finally, Bellamy released a long heavy breath and rose from his seat to gently push Clarke back down into the chair. “I’ve got a lot more people than my sister depending on me now. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Clarke nodded. “So do I, Bellamy.” 

He seemed to understand what she meant and didn’t push the disagreement any further. Instead, he sat back down himself and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look,” he said after several moments with a dismissive wave. “I’m not going to pretend to know what’s happening with that Skaa Mistborn and you, and that’s fine. Whatever. But try remember who your people are the next time you sit down for one of those meetings you all have. Your friends are sitting here, telling you they’re afraid of Lexa, and you’re not listening. And if you’re not on our side, then what even is the point in you having that seat to represent us?” 

Clarke pouted angrily at Bellamy’s words, glowering over the daggers he threw straight at her chest. Her fingers tensed around the arms of the chair, nails scraping along the velvet fabric and into the wooden frame underneath. She opened her mouth to protest, determined to stand up for herself no matter how it made her look when Raven clapped a hand onto her shoulder and said, “That's enough. Both of you. No one came here to argue. We came here to exchange information.” 

Bellamy looked at Raven, his jaw falling slack. He steeled himself again after a moment and turned his nose at Clarke. “I already exchanged our information. Pike is putting together a plan to get you back. That’s it.” 

“And I’m telling you I don’t want that.” Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and huffed. “How’s my mom doing?” 

“That’s not how this works,” Bellamy flat lined. “How’s Octavia?” 

“Ask her yourself,” Clarke said, looking at her nails. 

Monty stumbled forward, his boots scuffing along the wooden floor in a way that turned everyone’s eyes onto him. “Come on, guys. You’re friends. Don’t let these people take that away from you. Bellamy brought plans to help bring Clarke home and Clarke obviously brought plans to help the rest of us with Lexa.” 

“Did she though?” Jasper asked. “All I've heard is Clarke defending her.” 

“She wouldn’t defend her if she didn’t have a reason to,” Raven said. “Right Clarke?” 

Clarke nodded. “I can help, Bellamy. You just have to let me.” 

Bellamy looked around the room, his eyes going from face to face in a myriad of expressive emotion, but when his eyes landed on Clarke, they were hard and unyielding. 

Clarke looked at him from her own seat, nails biting the velvet lining, waiting for Bellamy to make his decision. Hoping he was willing to open up – just the tiniest amount. 

“This is pointless,” he said, standing up. “We’re done here.” 

And for the first time since coming here, Clarke agreed. 

* * *

The biggest mistake of Lexa’s life was letting Charles Pike onto the ambassador’s assembly. 

He was brash, hostile, emblazoned with anger, and a man who truly believed himself to _always_ be correct. When he wasn’t challenging Lexa directly during the light of day, he was conspiring against her under the shadows of night. It started off discreet; a meeting here and there with a single lord, slightly increased security that could be written off as fears lingering over the recent rebellion. But it wasn’t like that anymore. With each passing day Pike grew more confident in his position and as his allies grew to lean on him for support, his hold over the Noble’s opinion of her grew. 

Lexa had been watching him for weeks, completely unnoticed, and things had been going very well in the realms of information gathering and counter plan implementation during that time. However, her second biggest mistake in life, one that came in the shape of Cage Wallace, was beginning to demand her attention as well. And as she couldn’t watch them both – not all the time – her control over the Pike-turning-the-nobles-against-her situation was beginning to slip out of her grasp. 

Now that Lexa knew Pike was an Allomancer of the emotional manipulation variety, it was clear to her that Pike was rioting the lesser nobles and the more noble loyal Skaa into his meaty, fat-fingered hands. What was once a small faction was growing into a considerable force and should the like-minded but equally self-obsessed Cage Wallace ever decide to ally himself the Pike problem, Lexa’s reign was done for before it ever really had a chance to begin. 

They were both upset with her actions regarding Lord Collins, but to Lexa’s great relief, they were taking to very different approaches to their anger. Wallace was upset that that the process was made before anyone else had a chance to give their say on the matter. According to him, the ambassadors of the Noble families should have had an opportunity to determine if Lord Collins was in the wrong themselves, as Lexa – being a Skaa with a chip on her shoulder (apparently) -- was unfit to make the judgement call herself (apparently). Pike was furious that the execution of a nobleman happened at all. They were both feeding negative energy into Lexa’s new kingdom. Cage, feeding the idea that Lexa’s free government wasn’t actually free at all. Pike, that Lexa was a ruthless monster who didn’t deserve the crown she came to claim for herself. 

Both of these could easily be her undoing, but so long as the two refused to unite, the damage was seeping slowly into Lexa’s domain. Slow enough that Lexa could implement a counter strike if she saw fit. And so, Lexa spent every free second of every day gathering intelligence on Charles Pike and Cage Wallace, looking for an answer to the problems that presented themselves before her that wouldn’t turn either of them into a martyr for their cause. 

Anya told her she was stretching herself too thin and insisted that she leave this to her crew. That was their job, after all, to do the dirty work not fit for a Queen. But Lexa refused to listen. Every time Anya brought it up, Lexa swallowed another handful of Pewter, and continued to push herself onward. 

So long as Lexa continued to burn Pewter, she could operate the way she had been and eliminate the need for rest and recover until she was certain that nothing would collapse when she finally allowed herself time to recover. Pewter was a powerful Allomantic metal, and the direct opposite and pair to Tin. Where Anya could enhance her senses, Pewter allowed an Allomancer to enhance their physical capabilities. With it, she could push her body past the point of exhaustion and feel virtually unaffected. All she needed to was continue to consume Pewter like candy. 

Unfortunately, all this Pewter dragging and noble stalking led to Lexa essentially ignoring her guest’s existence all together. She needed Octavia to help her keep an eye on the city, and every other member of her crew drowning with responsibilities necessary to the ensured success of Lexa’s new Free Government. This meant there was no one to replace Octavia’s post which left Clarke uncomfortably without protection or a pair of trustworthy eyes on her, as Lexa would have otherwise preferred. But Octavia was a necessary piece to her operation in the mists. Anya, as a Tineye, could only fight so well and Octavia could make the difference between life and death if the two were to be caught keeping tabs on Cage Wallace while Lexa worked her angle on Pike. 

Besides, she had plenty of opportunities to check in on Clarke when she returned to the shop. 

Even in the middle of the night Indra’s shop was alight in the mist. People going in and out, smoke bellowing from the chimney, life moving and breathing and being in a way that no other Skaa home or shop seemed to operate. During the early stages of the rebellion, Lexa had made sure that Indra’s shop did nothing to draw attention to itself. They worked by candle light, stayed indoors after dark, limited the number of people allowed in or out of the shop and moved the majority of them during store hours so that they looked like customers or apprentices. Now, the shop was a beacon in the slums. A sign of strength that Skaa could do and be everything an Noble was. It was a risk, letting the shop operate this way, but it was also a strength. Where their position may have been given away to people determined to kill her, she had also issued a challenge to anyone brave enough to consider trying. 

She could see the shop even from here, atop the walls of Luthadel. Of course, her eyes were enhanced with Tin and she knew where to look, but tiny yellow glow from the darkness across the city was all Lexa needed to know exactly what sort of message her base of operations was sending. It wasn’t entirely different from the message once sent by the Lord Ruler, though his monstrous castle in Kredick Shaw was nothing like the shack of a shop that Lexa had deemed her temporary castle. Still, Lexa liked to think that the challenge to their enemies of “come and get me” was the only similarity between her and her predecessor. 

Lexa swallowed back a fist full of Pewter and flared the metal, jerking her body back to life with a sudden burst of energy. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer, sooner rather than later she would reach her limit, and if she waited too long it could be days before she recovered from it all. But she couldn’t retire until she knew what it was Lord Charles Pike was up to. She had to have the confidence that decommissioning herself for recovery wasn’t dooming her people to disaster in her absence. Especially seeing that every night since Lord Collins’ execution, Lexa found herself stalked by other Allomancers. 

She assumed, based from their cloaks, they were Mistborn like herself. But all they did at this point was watch her as she watched the city. Assessing her skills, perhaps? Or waiting for her to finally collapse before making their move on her people? Either way, they were a problem that needed to be addressed. If only she knew which family it was that deployed them to keep tabs on her. 

As of now, there were only one on her tail. They were lithe and lean and Lexa had seen these this person more often than any of the other tails she had acquired since her ascension. if she had to guess, this person was heavier than she was, which unfortunately put her at an acute disadvantage if she were to come into direct confrontation with her watchful shadow. Still, Lexa was fairly used to fighting people bigger and stronger than she was. If she kept a clear head about her, she was certain she could do something about the odds to swing them back into her favor. 

Lexa looked at her watcher from across the misty cityscape. She wanted to return to the shop, check on things and see if now were an apt time to retire her body, but she couldn’t do that with two tails watching her every movement. If anyone found out that she had been pewter dragging and was nearing her limit... no, she didn’t want to consider that. Which meant there was no other choice, she would have to lose her tails. And she’d need to do so now. 

"Let’s see how well you keep up,” Lexa mused. “Shall we?” 

Lexa stepped forward and without hesitation, stepped over the edge of the wall. The wind and the mists curled around her and Lexa closed her eyes as he felt the familiar stomach twisting adrenaline of falling rejuvenate her body. She opened her eyes again and with the help of Steel, blue lines seen only by her ejected from her body. Each blue line connected her to a source of metal, allowing her to see the resources around her. 

Lexa reached out for the blue line, grabbed it, and pulled, sending her rocking towards the ground at breakneck speeds. Her body jerked with the angle, and just before she crashed into the ground she reached out towards another line and, this time with the help of Iron, pulled. 

Again, her body lurched towards the source of metal and she flew through the air, she noticed two of the lines protruding from her body were moving. She deducted that these most likely belonging to her watchful shadow, and again she changed her course. She reached out, pulled at a source on her left, and again her trajectory took a harsh, aggressive change. 

She hit a muntin window and flared pewter to absorb the shock in her knees and ankles. She untied her coin purse, tossed it lightly in the air and watched as the two blue lines moved and shifted around her. They were growing thicker, and they were closing in fast. 

“Where are you,” she wondered, flaring her Tin. “That wasn’t enough to lose you, now, was it? I know you can do better than that.” 

She waited a moment more, muttering “just a little closer. Come one,” to herself like a mantra as she watched and waited for her shadows. Then, when they had just begun to reach her, she threw her coin purse and pushed it left while anchoring herself to another metal source to her right and pulling herself away. 

The coins went flying straight away from her and just as Lexa hit the ground and sputtered into a tucked roll, she caught sight of the blue line jerking into another direction. She smiled at the deviation, knowing her trick worked, and ducked into the nearest, narrow alley. With no more metal on her person and with the aid of burning copper which hid her Allomantic abilities, she was impossible to track. All she needed was to stay out of sight. 

She pulled the brim of her cloak down over her nose, shoved her hands in her pockets, and curled into a corner to wait. She was lodged beside a pile of discarded wooden boxes and a broken wooden cart filled with rotten fruit and vegetables, listening with baited breath for the sound of shoes against tile or cobblestone. Anything to let her know she had eluded her unwelcomed guest for the night. She heard a thump and her neck craned right to see a cloaked figured at the intersection of two roads. Watching the mists swirl around them, Lexa waited frozen in her stance as the Allomancer scanned the area in search of her. Then, after several moments, they leapt up into the air and soared across the rooftops, out of sight. 

Lexa crawled out of hiding and dusted her legs from the ashy stains that gathered on her thighs and shins. She looked around the alley, flaring her Tin under the shell of her protective Copper cloud to listen as the sounds of her shadows grew steadily softer. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked down the alley in either direction, getting a feel for where in the city she had ended up and where in relation to that Indra’s shop sat waiting for her. 

She turned heel, pivoting towards one end of the alley and strode into the intersection. The shops were vaguely familiar and as she continued her quiet sprints down the street her bearings slowly returned to her. She flanked left, pushed her back against the side of a building and into the long cast shadows from dimly lit lantern light down the road, listening as the sound of boots on cobblestone clanged against her ear, rhythmic like drum, growing steadily closer. She reached for the opal blade at her hip and pulled it to her chest. Then, with an inward breath to steady her and a flare of Pewter through her body, she shoved herself away from the wall and towards the person approaching her from down the street. 

Lexa drove her heels into the ground, skid along the road, and stopped. The knife fell from her fingers and crashed into the ground, her Tin ears picking up the sound like an explosion. 

“Clarke?” she asked, ignoring the pain in her ears. She grabbed Clarke by the wrist and yanked her down the alley towards the shadows, pushing her against a wall. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I'm on my way back to the shop,” she said as if this were common knowledge. “You did say I was free to come and go as I see fit.” 

Clarke started to push back against Lexa’s hold but she was quick to readjust her weight, her feet shifting into a stronger stance and her forearm pressing firm into Clarke’s chest, pinning her against the building side. “It’s not safe at night,” Lexa reasoned. 

“What?” Clarke mused. “Afraid of the mist wraiths?” 

Lexa hushed Clarke with a rough shushing noise, easing her weight off of Clarke just slightly. “I’m _not_ afraid of mist wraiths,” she corrected, her jaw clenched. 

Clarke looked left and then right into the misty streets. “I don’t see anything,” she said. “You sure there’s something out there?” 

“Someone,” Lexa said. “Mistborn. Come with me.” She grabbed Clarke again and pulled her away from the building. Half leading and half dragging, she took Clarke by the hand down the narrow alleys and streets, careful to stay in the long cast shadows and out of sight. “We need to get back to the shop without drawing any attention to ourselves. There’s no telling how many Allomancers are out tonight.” 

“Lexa, I walked all this way without running into any problems. I’m sure I can make the last three blocks just fine.” 

It was true that Indra’s shop was glowing only three blocks down, the chimney puffing with smoke and the mists swirling around it. Lexa could see it quite clearly now, the thought of finally taking her much needed reprieve clawing at the back of her mind. If Clarke had made it this far, maybe these Allomancers didn’t care to start any trouble – at least not yet. Perhaps they were merely watching her the same way she had resolved to watching the nobleman. A standstill, as it were. Or maybe, Clarke was simply not a target because of her position and power among the noble families. 

Maybe, Clarke was seen not as a guest, but as a prisoner of a cold war. 

“Humor me,” Lexa said. 

Clarke rolled her eyes and huffed impatiently at Lexa before slouching with defeat and allowing herself to be guided by Lexa’s hand down the streets of Luthadel. 

She lugged behind, her feet dragging against the cobblestone and Lexa turned around twice to see what it was that was slowing Clarke down so much. Both times, she found nothing of interest that might result in such a slow pace, and both times Lexa clicked her tongue against her teeth in frustration before turning back and trudging onward with her senses flaring with Tin. It was clear to her that while Clarke had agreed to humor her, she didn’t care to pretend to be worried about Allomancers and assassins. She took her time, meandering with sidesteps and dragging toes, as if she were finding amusement over frustrating Lexa with every step. 

At the foot of Indra’s shop, Clarke stopped them again and ran her fingers through the golden drips of her hair. “Lexa,” she began, pausing when Lexa turned to look her in the eyes. “We need to talk about Pike.” 

Lexa nodded and squeezed Clarke’s hand in her own. “Once we’re inside. It’s not safe in the mists.” 

Clarke hesitated, then nodded and Lexa stepped aside to allow Clarke through the threshold of the shop. She followed in line behind the noblewoman, through the front shop and toward the back of the building. The small sitting room was occupied by Indra and Titus, the two of them muttering softly to one another over a map of some sort, when Clarke and Lexa entered. 

“Mistress,” Titus greeted. “You’re back.” 

Lexa scratched her head and stifled a yawn. She was running out of pewter to burn and her body was beginning to slow down. “Clear the room,” she said, looking to Clarke for a nod of approval. “Lady Clarke and I have something to discuss.” 

Lexa’s positive she watched Titus roll his eyes before rolling up the parchment map and tucking it under his arm, but she ignored the minor infraction and gestured instead for Clarke to take a seat on the couch nearest the hearth. Indra, significantly more respectful of Lexa’s wishes when it came to Clarke, bowed her head slightly, picked up the remaining tools and leaflets of paper and disappeared from the room. Titus lingered for a moment, his mouth open as if he were contemplating saying something, but he snapped his jaw shut, dipped his head, and followed Indra out of the room without a word. 

She waited a few moments, watching as Clarke stared back at her, her clothes as stained as Lexa’s, her hair tangled like a nest. She wanted to ask what had happened to her that put her in a state so unbecoming for a Noblewoman, but instead she decided it best to focus her questions on the things Clarke was most likely to agree to speak on. And that, Lexa knew, started with a cup of wine. 

Lexa grabbed two cups and a bottle from a table beside the hearth and took a seat in her usual chair, a squishy reddish-brown thing with ashy stains on the armrests, and crossed one leg over the other. She reached over to the coffee table between them and set down the two cups pinched between her fingers, then she uncorked the bottle and filled each of the glasses roughly halfway before sliding one across the table to Clarke’s side. “You wanted to talk to me about Pike,” Lexa said as she lightly recorked the wine and set the half empty bottle on the table between them. 

Clarke nodded, accepting the cup and grasping it between her hands. She took a drink, pursed her lips, and stared into the cup for several moments without speaking. Then, without provocation or questioning she said, “I went to House Blake today.” Her fingers scratched along the ceramic surface of the cup. “He – Bellamy – thinks I'm being used as a bartering mechanism for your personal gain. He’s apparently been taking to Lord Pike to devise some sort of plan to rescue me.” 

Lexa set down her cup and gave Clarke a quizzical look in anticipation of further detail but when none was immediately given, she asked, “Do you want to be rescued, Clarke?” 

Again, Clarke seemed hesitant to speak. “I told him that I was against it. It's just,” she paused again; drank from her cup. “It sounded to me as if they’ve already made up their mind about it.” 

Lexa closed her eyes, uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to rest her elbows atop her knees. “So that’s why Pike wasn’t up to anything suspicious tonight,” she thought aloud. “He was waiting on Bellamy.” 

Clarke looked at her with a cast of confusion on her features. 

“That’s what I was doing,” Lexa explained. “Watching Pike for any suspicious movement.” 

“Every night?” 

Lexa nodded. “Every night except for tonight he’s given me reason to.” 

“And you think he knew I was meeting with Bellamy?” 

“You think he didn’t?” 

It was clear Clarke had something on her mind that she wanted to say, but she kept her lips sealed tight and cast her gaze to anything that wasn’t Lexa instead. Lexa watched this, watched her eyes flutter across the room, with quiet patience and a determined gaze. She knew Clarke would speak when she was ready, and no matter what it was, Lexa was going to be prepared to accept it with poise and grace. 

“Say he did know,” Clarke began, careful to gather her thoughts before presenting them further. “If he really wanted to get me away from you, don’t you think they would have made a move then? While I was there?” 

This struck Lexa with new found clarity and Lexa felt the corners of her lips tugging into a gentle smile at the thought of Clarke’s fierce loyalty. Something she hoped she was earning herself. “You don’t want to think he’s capable of ignoring your judgement,” she said. “Do you?” 

Clarke dipped her chip, just so. “Is that so bad?” 

“I think it’s admirable,” Lexa admitted. “I only hope that your loyalty to your friend’s is matched.” 

“I,” she paused again, pursed her lips, and Lexa knew before she said it what it was going through her mind. “I don’t know if it is anymore.” 

* * *

It was clear to Clarke that Lexa was beginning to slow down, which only proved to her more that the Queen had been pewter dragging all along. 

At this point, Clarke suspected that if Lexa were to continue to burn Pewter, she would need to be consuming a near constant source of the metal in order to keep her reserves at acceptable levels to continue with a constant burn. But as she and Lexa spoke over wine about Clarke’s experience with her friends at House Blake, Lexa didn’t replenish anything. She gave Clarke her full, undivided attention, and it was starting to show. 

While Clarke was grateful that Lexa valued her enough to give her such attentive care and concern when she asked for it, she was beginning to worry for Lexa's health and well being. Dark circles under her eyes were become more pronounced by the minute, and the warm hue of her skin was paling with every breath. She was trembling now, her fingers clawing into the armrests of her chair to stop it, and her once unnaturally graceful movements were starting to grow sluggish and jagged. She watched Lexa inhale sharply, filling her lungs with the warm air from the fire through her nose, and then exhale through her lips in something of a rhythmic trance. Exhaustion had set, Clarke knew this now, and she only wondered how far Lexa would push herself not to let it show. 

“What do you suggest we do?” Lexa asked, straightening her spine and putting on her most regal expression. “I can’t very well condemn Pike without proof. Not after the way your people reacted to Lord Collins’ execution.” 

“I don’t know,” Clarke said, thinking on the subject. “But if my mother knew that he was up to something like this, I don’t think her alliance with him would hold.” 

“We can’t afford a house war right now,” Lexa said. “Doing that would play right into my enemy's hands.” Lexa yawned for the first time in days. “We have two armies forming around us with two different strategies to defeat us. One seeks to rally the Nobles to usurp my throne via force, the other seeks to destroy my alliances so that I have no tools to lead with. If your mother, Lord Jaha or Lord Kane break away from their alliance with Lord Pike, it gives Lord Wallace leverage to argue the point that I am not fit to lead. A house war will diminish both Pike’s forces and my own and then he is free to take the throne. However, should the alliance with Pike hold true, and an army of Noble funding and proportions come to my doorstep, I have neither the manpower or the funds to see that battle to the end.” 

“In short: a war on either front is enough to destroy everything. And you, Mistress, are a key component to everyone’s strategy moving forward.” 

Clarke turned around to find Octavia, Lincoln and Anya standing in the door frame. Anya led the three, her perpetual scowl finding Clarke with a heightened sense of irritability tonight as explained – in the blunt fashion that only Anya could – what it was Lexa was trying to say. 

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” Anya marched into the room and planted herself behind Lexa’s chair with her arms folded over her chest. “We need a word with the Queen.” 

“If it involves me, then I deserve to know what’s going on.” 

“No,” Anya said. “You don’t.” 

Clarke turned to Lexa, hoping to plead her case, but Lexa’s eyes were closed and her head was slumped into the side of the chair. 

“Looks like we’ll have to wait,” Lincoln said as he crossed the room and scooped Lexa into his arms. “Seems she’s finally reached her limit.” 

Lincoln was a large man who looked as though he had been cut from stone, but never had his size diminished the prowess of Lexa’s being before now. Every time Clarke had seen them both in the same room, Lexa commanded it. She was the biggest, strongest, most powerful being in every room she entered and Clarke had grown used to Lexa’s power engulfing even the most terrifying of people in her presence. Seeing her now, cradled like this in Lincoln’s arms, was almost unreal. 

“Take her to her room,” Anya said. “Make sure you get some Pewter in her. I’ve left some vials by the bed.” 

“So she was Pewter dragging,” Clarke said under her breath. 

“Of course, she was,” Anya said. “She’s been pushing herself since you showed up.” 

“I’ve been here for almost a month.” 

“Your point?” Anya asked. “When she’s not passed out like she is now, she’s working to keep _you_ safe. Are you really surprised that she’s been pewter dragging on and off for a month?” 

“It’s never been this bad though,” Octavia said, sitting down on the couch next to Clarke as Anya plops into the chair Lexa had been earlier sitting in. “She’d go on two, three days max before. This was the first time since you’ve shown up that she’s gone this far.” 

“Since we took you to that Plantation,” Anya explained. 

“I never asked—” Clarke tried, but she was quickly cut off by Anya. 

“She’s going to get herself killed trying to keep you safe. You’re Noble aren’t you? Allomancy’s in your blood, and instead of using it yourself you’re busy relying on us, on her, and your version of a thank you is to run off and disappear.” 

Clarke squeezed her hands tight, balled into fists around the fabrics of her dress. Anya never liked Clarke, she knew that from the beginning, but at least now she was giving her a list of reasons why. And to her credit, they made sense. 

“No one’s even told us what makes you so fucking valuable, either. What can you even do?” 

“Anya,” Octavia said, her voice harsh. “That’s enough.” 

Clarke’s head jerked up, the tears beginning to well in her eyes drying with the sudden rush of determination accompanied by Octavia’s words. She wasn’t going to let Anya see her like this. She wasn’t going to have Octavia stand up for her when Lexa couldn’t. She wasn’t going to be exactly what Anya accused her of – weak. 

Anya scoffed and kicked her boots into the ground, standing up again with dramatic flair. “Whatever,” she said. “Guess I’ll never know what it is she sees in you.” 

Clarke decided that this was fine by her and shrugged at Anya’s deceleration, causing the older woman to huff and storm out of the room. She would have liked to get along with Anya, especially after learning how important she was to Lexa, but Anya seemed almost hell bent on maintaining frigidity between them at all costs. Still, Anya wasn’t exactly wrong when it came to her callout on Clarke’s behavior, and that didn’t sit well in the pit of Clarke’s stomach now that she was looking at her own behavior in hindsight. 

She turned to Octavia, who for the first time since knowing her as Octavia and not Aranea, stood up for her. “Thank you,” she said. 

Octavia lifted her shoulders and leaned back into the couch, picking at her nails. “Don’t mention it, Griffin,” she said, her voice, for the first time, having a hint of the personality Clarke once knew and loved. “Anya can get pretty set in her ways sometimes. Best not to let it get to you.” 

“She wasn’t entirely wrong though,” Clarke admitted. 

Octavia nodded. “No,” she said. “She’s not.” 

Clarke pursed her lips, looked at the floor, and then back to Octavia. “Sorry for being difficult these past weeks.” 

Octavia raised her eyebrows at Clarke, seeming stunned by Clarke’s apology. “I’m sorry,” she said with equal parts incredulous inquiry and sarcasm. “You’re what now?” 

“Don’t make me say it again,” Clarke whined. 

“Fine, fine,” Octavia smiled. She grabbed the bottle of wine and pulled open the cork with her teeth before taking a drink straight from the bottle. “You’re forgiven. ” 

The two of them drank quietly for a while, passing the bottle back and forth between them like wild delinquents stealing liquor from their parent’s cabinets, talking rarely but occasionally bringing up a memory of a ball or party that the two of them had attended before fall of the Final Empire. 

It was strange to Clarke to look back on her life before living with the Skaa, to hear about Octavia’s first impressions and experiences with the life she was denied at birth. It was strange to think that only a few months ago, it wasn’t Lexa, a woman fighting tooth and nail for a free and equal government who stood as their leader, but an immortal God who looked upon his subjects with disdain and malcontent. This, combined with the realities she faced for the first time at the Collins’ plantation served to remind her of exactly why it was she was coming to believe in Lexa’s leadership, why her mother and her father saw something in Lexa that Clarke didn’t at first understand. Why Lexa was the better choice; why she might just be the _only_ choice. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Lexa awoke, it was bright and hot and her body was stiff and sore.

Her room, which was shared with other Skaa members of her crew, was empty and lifeless now, a clear sign that the day was in full effect and her trusty crew was hard at work. There were several empty vials scattered on the bedside table from someone – probably Titus – feeding her body with shavings of Pewter while she recovered. Judging by the sheer amount, she’s been asleep for at least two days.

She sat up, pressed the heel of her hand into her head and felt the ground churn beneath her. She’s still a long way off from one hundred percent, but at least she was awake again. She didn’t plan on passing out when she did, after all. This was little more than a mild inconvenience however, as the bigger and more pressing matters were wrapped up in what was or was not completed during Lexa’s time asleep.

She didn’t have to burn Tin to hear that the shop was busy and active, the distant chattering of voices and the clanging of objects was a clear sign that work had continued fervently in her absence. She took this as a good sign, and stood form the bed. She took a moment to let her legs adjust to the weight upon them, bending her knees and rolling her ankles as she felt her body return to her. Then, she dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, ran her fingers through her hair – thinking only briefly about how a bath might benefit her before deciding that it was time she could not afford to waste – and made her way out of the bedroom. 

“Your Highness,” Indra greeted as Lexa reached the bottom of the stairs. “You’re awake at last.”

Lexa scratched her head and nodded, still too groggy to have any sense of time. “Morning,” she greeted, knowing full well by the heat radiating into the shop that it was well passed noon. ‘What’d I miss?”

Indra swept around the room and embraced Lexa in a gentle hug before pulling away and setting her hands on Lexa’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “Nothing important,” she assured. “The world can still move on even while you sleep, my Queen.”

Lexa felt her cheeks grow hot at Indra’s words, but the older woman was graceful enough to ignore her embarrassment. “Is there anything to eat?”

“Baywraps in the kitchen,” Indra said. “And Clarke’s mother brought little cakes. We saved you some.”

“Lady Griffin was here?” Lexa asked as she started towards the Kitchen. 

Indra followed a few paces behind Lexa and said, “Yesterday. Lady Clarke requested a visit with her mother.”

Lexa rolled up her sleeves and helped herself to a baywrap left out on a platter. “Why didn’t Clarke just go home to see her mother?”

Indra paused and looked over her shoulder. “I believe she had an altercation with Anya the night you fell asleep. She’s hasn’t left the shop since.”

“An altercation? Like what?”

“You’ll have to ask the Lady.”

With her mouth full, Lexa managed to ask, “And where is Lady Clarke?”

“She’s been using your council room in your absence,” Indra said. “She’s been working with Lincoln on documentation of laws and regulations as you requested of her.”

Quizzically, Lexa peered down the hall from where she stood. The door to the room she converted into a council room was cracked open, but not enough for her to see inside. She finished the baywrap, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and made her way down the hall towards the council room.

She found Clarke with Titus and Lincoln, sitting in three chairs on the far corner of the disenfranchised mess of a room, deep in discussion. She was dressed down, more casual than Lexa was used to seeing and in a fashion that almost resembled the rest of Lexa’s crew. She was bent over a map; Titus scribbling notes furiously as she drew her finger across the parchment, her lips moving in a fury of words Lexa couldn’t hear. It was strange seeing Clarke like this. Until now she had been more a guest than a member of her crew, but seeing like this her now, one might actually mistake her as a Skaa.

Clarke turned at the sound of Lexa entering the room and her expression split into a gentle smile. “Let’s pick this up later, okay, Lincoln?” she asked, turning back to the men in the room.

Lincoln dipped his chin and began rolling the parchment. “Tomorrow then,” he said, and Clarke nodded back.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

“Mistress,” Titus greeted, outstretching his arms. “It’s good to have you with us. Would you care to see the progress we’ve made in regards to the first draft of the written law? I think you will find it most acceptable.” 

Lexa shook her head. “I will review the document when it is ready, Titus. Not before.”

Titus bowed his head. “Very well, Mistress. In that case, I will convene with Master Aden, I think. If you will excuse me.”

“Of course,” Lexa said, stepping aside so that Titus could pass through the door, Lincoln hot on his heels. 

Clarke was still cleaning up, however. Her deft fingers neatly returning every moved piece of parchment, ever vial of metal, and every inkwell back to where Lexa had left them. For someone who wasn’t burning Pewter, Clarke was immensely graceful with her movements, and for someone not burning Tin, her attention to detail was impeccable. And in watching her return the table to what it once was, Lexa was caught stunned by Clarke’s skills and abilities to perform tasks without the aid of Allomancy.

Everyone on Lexa’s crew had mastered some variation of the Metallic Arts. Anya and Aden had Tin, Octavia had Steel, Indra had copper, Lincoln had brass, and even Gustus had Iron. They were all experts of something; each of them (save Aden who was still in training) better than Lexa when it came to their ability to manipulate the powers of their singular metal source. She had trained under each and every one of them, learned to master each metal the way a misting would have, and then combined those metals to form a fighting style unlike any Mistborn in Scadrial. 

But Clarke didn’t use Allomancy. Whether she had the ability to it or not, Lexa didn’t know. But even if she could burn metal, she never did. And there was a certain elegance to it that Lexa couldn’t quite describe. Something in the way Clarke maneuvered in the world that was different from other non Allomancers. It was almost as if she were burning only the slightest hint of metal. Just enough to make her a fraction more adept, more resilient, and more aware.

But maybe that was the result or navigating the world without the aid of Allomancy as a Noble. 

Becoming an Allomancer was no easy task. For one, you had to have noble blood. And as Nobles were not permitted to have children with Skaa, theoretically speaking, Allmoancy was an ability that only Nobles could use. Allomancy itself was a gift from the Lord Ruler a thousand years ago to his allies and supporters, and as the generations passed, even among the descendants of his friends, Allomancy grew less and less common. On top of that, there had to be a trigger – some sort of trauma or pain to bring forth an allomancer’s power. 

Most Noble families resorted to beating their children to the brink of death in order to bring forth their power. Most Skaa who happened to have enough noble blood to become Allomancers did little more than live in poverty, suffering, and fear. For Lexa, her powers developed in the pits of Hathsin, a place she never again wanted to visit – in person or in memory. For Aden, he was starved half to death as punishment by an Obligator. It killed his mother, but not before she was able to secure that one of them – Aden – would survive. 

And Lexa wondered, did Clarke’s family beat her senseless in an attempt to bring forth her powers, only to find nothing? Or had they forgone that tradition, even at the cost of power to their house, and chose to instead raise a daughter with no Allomantic abilities at all? And what, Lexa wondered, of her father’s execution? If all else had failed, would that have been enough? 

“Clarke,” Lexa said, her voice raspy and tender. “May I ask you something?”

Clarke, who had only just now finished rearranging Lexa’s council table, looked up at her. “Ask me what?” she asked.

Lexa licked her lips, pursed them, and swallowed. There were so many ways to phrase the question. So many questions with the same implications. In the end, she settled on the one she was most curious about. “We’re you present at your father’s execution?”

Clarke paused; her body frozen from the frigidity of Lexa’s question. Then, “Yes,” she was.

It wasn’t exactly the answer Lexa was hoping to hear. She knew Clarke blamed her for her father’s execution and as Lexa recalled, it was a particularly brutal show of force by the lord Ruler shortly before she finally faced him and ended his rule. It was his public display of power, meant to quell the simmering rebellion. A way to show that no one, not even the most powerful of nobles, were immune to his absolute power. 

She thought about the fountain; the red stained water that spewed from its expertly crafted spout, and she wished that Clarke had been saved from that image burning itself in her brain. 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said at last. “I know he was executed because of me.”

Clarke pushed back her mane of golden hair with one hand and sighed indignantly. “He was,” she said after several moments. “But I don’t blame you. Not anymore.”

“You don’t?”

Clarke shook her head. “I think he would have wanted it this way. Me being here with you, I mean.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t be here if he were still alive,” Lexa said.

Clarke lifted her shoulders with an airy sense of indifference. “I probably wouldn’t be,” she admitted. “You’d be working with him, not me. And if that were the case, I’d probably think the same things of you as my friends. Which, as you know, aren’t good things.”

“I’m keenly aware,” Lexa drawled. 

Her decision to execute the lesser lord outside the city hadn’t gone over well with the Noblemen inside Luthadel’s walls. But, she figured, what else was she to do? Doing nothing, as she had, provided her with nothing. Proving a point, like she chose to do with Lord Collins, got her taken seriously. 

She didn’t want to have to execute anyone. Her goal was to bring about peace, equality, and prosperity to all of Scadrial’s citizens. But it was foolish of her to assume that she could achieve this without at least  _ some _ spilled blood. For now, she was simply grateful that the count for unnecessarily lost lives post ascension was limited to one. Especially as she was now on the brink of two wars of which she could not win.

Not alone, anyway.

Clarke was her bridge to the Noble families, and on a larger scale, that bridge was the only passage to a better future. She had so much on her shoulders and it was entirely Lexa’s fault that the burden of acting as her beacon of hope between Skaa and Nobles was hers and not her father’s. Until now, Lexa wondered if Clarke was even aware of what it was Lexa was asking of her. If she knew just how heavy the burden would be. But seeing her here, working with Titus and Lincoln instead of being chased down by Octavia gave her a new sense of hope for the future Lexa wanted so desperately to build.

“Still,” Lexa said, somewhat suddenly. “I have much to make up for. You are a key piece in this operation, Clarke. I owe you far more than you realize. I hope you allow me the chance to make things right.”

Clarke didn’t have anything to say to this and so Lexa stepped deeper into the room. She rounded the large table, grabbed a vial of shaved metals suspended in liquid and drained its contents in one large gulp. She always felt better with a stable reserve of metal in her body and she could feel each metal reserve within her waiting to be burned. She sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, and then turned to look at Clarke again, feeling more like herself again than she had since waking up.

There were two metals that Lexa always burned, and she felt quite exposed without them. Copper to hide her own Allomancy, and Bronze to detect the use of Allomancy in others. She never felt the familiar drum of Allomantic pulses coming from Clarke, but she had also never thought to look for them before now. She made a mental note to explore the possibility of Clarke’s own Allomantic potential later, and then reached across the table to grab one of the maps Clarke had been studying with Titus and Lincoln in an attempt to sway the conversation into a depressing direction.

“How has Titus been treating you?” She asked as she looked over the scratchy notes Titus had taken onto the parchment. “Well, I hope?”

Clarke tipped her head from one shoulder to the other. “Fine, I guess,”’ she drawled. “He spent most of his time worrying about you.”

Lexa wasn’t surprised by this. Titus was immensely loyal to Lexa, nearly to a fault. “I see,” she said. “I worried about his behavior towards you. He wasn’t very fond of the idea of allowing a Noble within our ranks.”

“He isn’t the only one,” Clarke said. 

“No,” Lexa agreed, remembering that Indra had said there was some sort of issue between Clarke and Anya. “He isn’t.”

She thought to ask Clarke what had transpired between her and the other members of her crew while she was indisposed, but decided that if Clarke wanted to speak on these issues, she was free to bring them up herself. She didn’t want to prod for irrelevant or personal information, and she certainly didn’t want to make assumptions or cross any lines. She did, however, decide to say, “If you have any issues with a member of my crew, I’d like for you to tell me.”

Clarke smiled at this and said, “I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Lexa said, tapping her knuckles against the table. “Good.”

An awkward silence fell between them, much like it usually did, and Lexa took this time to place the rolled parchment back onto the table. Again, she rapped her knuckles against the table, looked at her pile of books and documents, and sighed at the realization that as Assembly was hot on her heels and she was not at all ready for it. 

She took her usual seat at the table and flipped open one of the books. Then, she looked up at Clarke who was still standing somewhat awkwardly and unsure, clearly wondering if she was excused or not, and smiled. “If you’ve got the time, I could use your help. I’ve got a lot to catch up on before the Assembly.” There may not have been any wine, but there was a mountain of work, and several days of which Lexa had missed. If this couldn’t get them communicating freely, she didn’t know what could.

Clarke hesitated, her bottom lip finding itself tangled between her teeth, and then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But we need to work fast. The Ambassadors plan to meet today.”

* * *

Clarke’s eyebrows contracted slightly. 

She had been listening to the ambassadors of Lexa’s assembly ramble on and argue over minuscule details of the written law for the better part of an hour and it was immensely frustrating to sit through. While Lexa could forcefully implement any rule or law she saw fit, she had insisted upon bringing what Clarke, Lincoln, and Titus had drafted to the assembly to see what the other ambassadors thought of the rulings. Her hope was to get a majority approval, make the transition to the new laws as smooth and accepted as possible. And while Clarke was certain she had the majority vote in the bag, there were a few details that some members of the assembly insisted upon changing.

There were twelve members of Lexa’s assembly in total, including the four elected Nobles consisting of Clarke, Wells, Cage, and Charles. Four of these remaining eight seats belonged to members of Lexa’s crew and represented the members of the Skaa Underground, a once illegal society of Skaa thieves and rebels who mostly operated out of large cities such as Luthadel. For these four spots, Lexa had chosen Indra, Anya, Lincoln, and Octavia and for the most part, they were a resolved, concise, and unified force within the assembly. 

The other four spots were taken by Skaa who were voted into place by the Skaa population of Luthadel. The first of which went to a curly haired woman named Luna who looked roughly Lexa’s age and was as important to the Skaa population as the Queen was as well. Apparently, while not a member of the Underground, Luna did run something of an underground operation of her own taking in Skaa off the streets and putting them to work on her boat. She was known to have skimmed the fishing haul meant for the Lord Ruler and the Nobles to feed the weakest and most starved Skaa she could find, usually children. For that, she was very popular. 

The second member of the Skaa appointed ambassadors was a man named Roan who was quite large for a Skaa and seemed to clash with Luna at every opportunity even though their core principals and beliefs were nearly identical. While Luna wanted to resolve problems passively, Roan wanted to take a more aggressive approach. It was unusual for a Skaa to be so proud and assertive, and every time Roan stood from his seat to fight someone on their beliefs, Clarke wondered what it was he did during the Final Empire and what type of person he was. All she knew was his mother died in the rebellion, and that she was some sort of enemy of Lexa’s.

The other two Skaa ambassadors were much more like what Clarke expected Skaa to be. They were rather quiet and rarely voiced their opinions unless asked directly to participate in debated and discussions. Clarke was fairly certain the darker haired girl was named Emori, and the blonde woman was named Niylah, but as they rarely participated, she wasn’t entirely sure. Lexa had said that they were both members of the underground, one a thief who was part of a much smaller game crew than Lexa, the other a black-market trader. However, Clarke didn’t know which was which or who was who most of the attention garnered from the Skaa members of the Assembly went to either Luna or Roan.

The assembly had chosen to gather again at Keep Griffin and they again utilized her father’s study for the meeting. Lexa sat the large, squishy chair that her father used to sit in when she was growing up and memories of him setting her on his lap to read her stories flooded her at the sight of Lexa situating herself against its worn-down armrests and faded upholstery. Around Lexa, the three divisions of the Assembly encircled her. Clarke sat next to Wells at the end of their table which was directly across from Lexa. To her left was the table dedicated to Lexa’s crew and to her right was the table for the Skaa ambassadors, where Roan was yelling profanities at the Noble table for so much as considering Pike’s proposed revision to r eparations tax on Noble families.

“This is unsustainable,” Piked argued again. 

“This is what we deserve,” Roan pointed back.

It had been going on like this for so long that Clarke was convinced that the Assembly was going to get all of nowhere by the end of their meeting. Reparations were, after all, the very Second thing on Lexa’s list. It was supposed to be a simple, cut and dry agreement. Pay the Skaa what they’re owed in backlog for their services via a tax increase of eight percent on Noble families. And an increase on taxes by eight percent should have meant nothing when the first article on the agenda was abolishing the much higher taxes on noble families given to the Lord Ruler. Something of which everyone unanimously agreed upon.

“We can’t be expected to maintain the same workforce, pay them all wages and reparations. We’ll all go bankrupt.”

“So, get rid of some of your staff,” Roan said, flatly. “There’s plenty of new work opportunities sprouting up. Plenty of opportunities for Skaa to find better work and better pay than with their old masters.”

For whatever reason, Lexa didn’t see any reason to stop the fighting. She watched them lazily from her position at the head of the Assembly, her eyes flashing from Pike to Roan as each of them challenged one another for a dominant position over a measure that everyone knew was going to pass as is. Clarke could only assume that she was taking this time to judge the two men and attempt to take in as much information on the scene as possible. It was the only thing she could think of that made any sense. Especially with how distrusting she was when it came to anyone that wasn’t a member of her crew.

Sometimes Lexa would look to Clarke as they argued, her green eyes fleeting and curious, looking at Clarke with a depth of which she was unused to. It was like she was pouring herself into Clarke, a wealth of conversation, concerns and ideas all in Lexa’s voice flooding her mind with that watchful gaze of hers. And when Lexa looked at Clarke, Clarke couldn’t help but look back, her attention captured by the deep greens of Lexa’s eyes and the way the lantern light fluttered like fire within them.

Pike slammed a fist on the table, jerking Clarke’s attention away from Lexa and down the table to where Pike was staring flaming daggers into Roan and the other Skaa. “You don’t understand the weight of what you’re demanding, Skaa,” he said, his voice low and rough. “How anyone uneducated in even the most basic theories of politics as you could stand here and believe themselves to be my  _ equal, _ I will never know.”

“Enough,” Lexa growled, finally having enough. “These men and women  _ are  _ your equals, Pike. If you cannot accept that then perhaps, we should reevaluate your position upon my assembly.”

Pike glowered from across the room; a popped vein in his neck throbbing as he concealed his anger. “My name is  _ Lord _ Pike,” he spat. 

“Sit down and shut up,” Lexa commanded. “Both of you.”

Roan glared at pike and pike glared at Lexa and Clarke watched from the safety of her seat as the men took one last challenge to be the last one standing. Eventually, roan conceded and took his seat leading to Puke doing the same amidst a long and unbearable silence. 

“We will now put the matter to a vote,” Lexa instructed. “All in favor of the reparations taxation upon the noble houses?”

Clarke didn’t need to raise her hand, but she did anyway. And after throwing a shady glare at Wells for hesitating, he raised his hand too. Their two votes were added to the unified forces of Lexa’s crew and the Skaa representatives. 

“Ten to two,” Lexa says with a hint of smugness about her. “The motion passes.”

* * *

“We drink tonight,” Anya stated proudly as she slammed a jar of moonshine onto the table.

They had just managed to secure their first major victory on the political field, and as Skaa with no education, this was a major victory by every right. Lexa’s crew was in a full mindset of celebration, and most had abandoned their duties in favor of drinking and priding themselves for finally having something to show for all their hard work.

Ceramics cups are filled with moonshine and passed around, with Octavia and Anya both using among the largest cups in the house’s selection. There’s hooting and cheering, rabbles of conversation piles atop one another, shows of Allomancy by physical Allomancers such as Octavia and Gustus, and an all-around praise and celebration of the Queen and Titus for their hard work. Even Clarke was being prided by the thieving crew, and while Lexa was hesitant about partaking in the celebrations herself, she was glad to see so many of the people closest to her finally beginning to accept Clarke as one of their own.

Octavia had an arm slung around Clarke’s shoulders, dragging her around the back room and talking loudly about how she was responsible for bringing Clarke among them, and how lucky they all were (by extension because of Octavia) that Clarke was helping them. Even Anya nodded approvingly from across the room at Clarke, and the sight of that alone was enough for Lexa to decide that this party was well worth it.

She hated the idea of taking a night off when Pike and Wallace were fuming with defeat, but her crew had worked hard, so hard for so long, and she couldn’t bring herself to deny them this. Not when things were going so well as to actually find them accepting their noble ally as one of their own. So, Lexa allowed herself a single cup of Moonshine, and decided that until the cup was drained, she would sit among her crew and enjoy the positivity and pride radiating through the shop.

Lexa sat in the corner of the room, sideways in her favorite chair which had been pushed out of the way with everything else in the room, with one foot propped up on the side table next to it. Her thumbs ran up and down the surface of her ceramic cup as she watched the party unfold before her, trying her hardest not to let herself fall too deeply into seriousness during this time of relaxation and celebration. 

It was strangely pleasing to watch Clarke interact with the members of her crew without the thickness of distrust and the tension of uncertainty filling the room. She had worked on the reparations bill with Lincoln and Titus while she slept, so she didn’t know the details, but it was clear as day that she had worked hard enough to earn more than her share of trust among the crew. And Seeing Clarke smile as Octavia proudly paraded her around the room made Lexa smile too.

It made her smile because Octavia and Clarke were getting along again, because Anya wasn’t actively trying and bring Clarke down, and because for some reason she couldn’t explain, Clarke’s smile reminded Lexa of what it felt like to finally be free.

“You look happy tonight, Mistress,” Titus observed as he leaned against a wall beside her. “I’m glad.”

“I am happy, Titus.” Lexa says. “This is our first real victory since I've taken the throne.”

“The last time I saw you smile was with Costia, I think. It pleases me to see you smile so genuinely again, Mistress.”

Lexa looked down at the scars that raked along her arms. There were very few memories in Lexa’s life that had this feeling of satisfaction and uplift. Most of her life was spent eluding Obligators and Steel Inquisitors, stealing from Nobles, praying that she and Costia made it just one more week, one more day. She had happy memories, of course, but other than Costia, the light that had been her life, those moments of happiness were few and far between.

“It’s all thanks to Clarke,” Lexa said as she tipped the moonshine between her lips. “Without her, I don’t think this would have been possible.”

“The vote would have passed without Lady Griffin, Mistress,” Titus said.

“The vote wouldn’t exist at all without Lady Griffin,” Lexa corrected. “The reparations tax was her idea, was it not?”

Across the room, Octavia, still holding Clarke in a friendly headlock, is refilling Clarke’s cup with more moonshine. 

Titus bowed his head in a slow, apologetic nod. “It was, Mistress.”

“Then it is Clarke’s doing that we have this victory to celebrate.”

Clarke finally wiggled free of Octavia’s hold now, and she’s laughing and drinking and smiling with Lincoln, the other man who worked on this project alongside Clarke and Titus. Lexa watched from her corner as the two exchanged words, watching the way the light from the hearth hit the golden notes of Clarke’s tangled mane and the blues of her eyes. She was quite beautiful when she wasn’t scowling, and Lexa found herself marveling at the ease in which she moved. She may have been dressing more like a Skaa with each passing day, but she still walked, talked, moved and breathed like a noble. There was a lightness about her, unfamiliar to the Skaa who had suffered so much, and until now, Lexa had never once seen that lightness with anything other than hatred and disdain.

She sometimes felt as if she had put too much of the Skaa’s needs on Clarke’s shoulders, but now Lexa understood that it wasn’t the weight of the Skaa that drove her forward, it was the fact that Clarke felt the privilege of her people, the lightness on her shoulders, and it had become unbearable. And Lexa understood, and as she watched Clarke, finally bearing that lightness with pride, she couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re not celebrating with a drink, Titus?” Lexa asked.

“No, Mistress,” Titus answered. “It is best if I retire early tonight so that I can continue our work first thing in the morning, I think.”

Lexa’s chin bobbed slowly. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think that might be best. But there is little harm in one drink, Titus.” She drained the last of her moonshine then and pushed herself to her feet. Titus was right, they can’t allow themselves to lose this momentum, and Lexa had resolved far earlier in the night to carry on even without the support of her crew. If for nothing else than to ensure their safety in their celebrations.

Lexa abandoned her cup on the table beside her chair and shouldered past her crew and up the stairs to the crew quarters. She found her mistcloak, pinned it around her shoulders and pulled up the hood. The long, tendril strips of fabric fluttered in the breeze of the window as she opened it, and she had one foot through the opening when the door opened behind her.

“You’re going out again?” Clarke’s voice rang in her ears from across the room. It was soft and quiet, but Lexa had begun burning Tin and Clarke’s voice boomed in her ears. “You’ve hardly recovered from the last time you went out like this.”

Lexa pulled her leg back into the room and turned around to face Clarke. She had a worried look about her; her brow wrinkled with concern and her eyes pleading and curious. She had never seen Clarke look anything less than at least semi uninterested before and she lost her breath at the genuinely of it all, choking on the air that was still in her lungs. “You should be celebrating, Lady Clarke. Not following me into a room that isn’t yours.”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed at this and her head tipped to one side. “You should be celebrating too,” she said, matter-of-fact, her expression returning to that entrancing, concerned look. “Besides, you’re still not fully recovered.”

“I had several days off,” Lexa reminded. “It’s time now that I get back out there. Especially with the state Pike left the assembly in.”

“I highly doubt he’s going to make a move on you tonight,” Clarke said. “If anything, he’s just going to complain to Bellamy and the others.”

Lexa turned to face Clarke more fully and said, “If he has intentions to turn your people against me, I need to be aware of his plans, Lady Clarke.”

“You’d be going out there alone.” Clarke’s gaze was powerful now, her concern building in her eyes in a way that made it hard for Lexa to look at without feeling guilty.

Lexa nodded. “They earned this. You earned this too. Go back downstairs and enjoy yourself.”

Clarke frowned. “You earned a night off too.”

“I told you,” Lexa said. “I’ve already had several.”

“Being passed out while I pour Pewter down your throat isn’t a night off.”

Lexa’s eyes widened. “You?”

“Yes, me,” Clarke said, matter of fact. “My mom is a doctor, remember? I picked up a few things and apparently, I know more than your entire crew when it comes to Pewter dragging. No one was getting the percentages right so I asked my mom for help and then I took over.”

Lexa dipped her chin. “Thank you,” she said, feeling suddenly breathless again. She had thought Titus was the one to care for her. She hadn’t even considered that it might have been someone else – especially not Clarke. And suddenly, that worry in her eyes made sense, and Lexa felt a deep pang of guilt in her chest for it. “But this doesn’t change anything. I have to know what’s going on out there.”

“I can tell you exactly what’s going on out there. Pike is rioting people. He always does when things don’t go his way and that’s exactly why everyone knows that he’s an Allomancer. You would think that if someone could manipulate emotions, they would keep that a secret so that it’s more effective, but Pike isn’t like that. He doesn’t care that people know he can riot because he’s that good at it. And he’s probably out there with Blake and Green and Jordan and probably even my mom and Kane, making his point and pushing people to believe him.”

She forced herself to remain on point. To keep looking into Clarke’s eyes. To not back down from her purpose tonight. “And what is his point?”

“That you’re going to bleed Nobles dry and leave them for dead,” Clarke said. “Everyone knows you had no intention of leaving the Nobles alive when you first set out to overthrow the Lord Ruler. He’s going to use that against you.”

“Look,” Clarke said, continuing. “You said yourself you’ve got two enemies coming for you. You can’t do anything to Pike without playing into Wallace’s hands and you know it. So, what would you even do if you went out there? You can’t stop him from talking.”

“And you can’t stop me from listening,” Lexa said, turning her back on Clarke. She knew what she was doing, and she couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. Not when that look of hers was so potent, so powerful, that it made Lexa feel something sour forming in the pit of her stomach for ignoring her.

Lexa breathed a counted breath, muttered the words, “I’m sorry, Clarke,” shoved the feeling away, and climbed out the window. 

Once she was perched on the windowsill, she reached for the nearest metal source and pulled, sending her flying through the air and across the alley. Then, she flicked a coin onto the ground and pushed, changing her trajectory and soaring up into the sky. When she reached the height of her push, she balanced carefully atop the center of the metal source beneath her and felt the mists swirl around her. None of her crew understood, not the way Lexa did, the way she felt so natural and free. How out here in the mists, Lexa felt as if she had a place where she belonged.

She felt more herself here than she did even with her crew, but for some reason, the thought of Clarke standing in the crew quarters after pleading with her to stay kept finding its way into the forefront of her mind. Normally, out here her worries could melt away’ she could focus on her goals without distraction. And it was that ability to drop everything except her mission from her mind that she believed was key to her defeating the Lord Ruler. But now, Clarke’s eyes paint themselves in the mists, and her voice rings in her mind like an echo in a cavern.

Lexa thought back to what Clarke had said about fueling her body with Pewter as she recovered and squeezed her fingers into a fist. If that were true, Clarke had done more than carry her weight since arriving. This victory today in the field of politics was not only possible because of Clarke’s dedicated work to the cause, but because Lexa was able to recover in time to present herself and her power before the assembly. What would have happened if Lexa hadn’t awoken in time? Would Pike have rioted the Nobles into turning against her crew? Would he have rioted the fear in the Skaa into refusing to vote for their own betterment?

Would Lexa have lost the creditability of her power?

That sour feeling worked its way back into her now, and Lexa turned to look behind her at the little shop alight with life and celebration. Through her tin enhanced ears, she could hear the party in full force below her and she focuses on the sound of their joy to push the feelings of abandonment away.

Why was she suddenly so concerned with Clarke’s opinions and feelings? Why couldn’t she shake the look of worry on her face the way she shook away everything else that attempted to stick with her in the mists?

She stopped pushing against the coin, letting herself fall several feet through the air before pushing again off the coin and allowing herself to arc up and over several buildings. She threw down another coin and pushed again as she began to fall, and surged up once more into the air. She looked at the metal sources, the thin blue lines that illuminated from her chest, picked one that seemed large and solid, and pulled. 

Lexa flew through the air, between buildings and then above again, each push and pull allowing her to maneuver through the cityscape towards the Keep of House Pike. But as she approached the district of Noble homes and great Keeps, Lexa stopped her approach. She landed on the roof of a large home to one of the Cities lesser houses and adjusted her hood. Next, she flared her Tin and peered through the mists and honed in on Pike’s Keep. She was too far to hear anything or read any lips, but she could see the Keep was rich with activity and life. Now she only needed to infiltrate the property and get close enough to whichever window allowed her access to Pike, catch him in the act of plotting against her, and... then what? 

Clarke’s words, not hers, asking the questions she didn’t have an answer to.

“Dammit, Clarke,” she cursed.

Lexa shook her head. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She couldn’t kill him and his allies. Not without pissing off every noble in the city and then some. Not after the response she elicited from her execution of Lord Collins. Killing two Nobles this close together? Would they see her as anything more than the Skaa version of the Lord Ruler? Probably not. Which made her wonder, if not her ability to spare a life, then what did she have that made her more worthy of ruling this land then the man she killed?

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose and huffed angrily. Even the mists couldn’t melt away her thoughts of Clarke tonight. She was distracted, too distracted, and she half considered turning back; rejoining her crew and caving in to their desires to see her drunk and relaxed like the rest of them. Clarke was right, in her own way, after all. There wasn’t a whole lot Lexa could do with any stretch of information she got on Pike other than take it back and plan counter measures for  _ if _ he actually made a move on her. And it was highly unlikely that he would strike her tonight. It was too predictable and too short of notice to plan something that might actually work. But it’s the thought of those plans, the idea that he might make plans tonight for something that could ruin her, that kept her out here. 

She shook her head again, trying to throw Clarke’s words away. To get those worried eyes out of her memory, but it was a wasted effort. There was no getting Clarke out of her mind tonight.

* * *

Clarke stared out the window for several painfully long minutes before deciding Lexa wasn’t going to return.

She didn’t know what she was doing, standing here hoping like a fool that Lexa might reconsider, that she might turn around and come back. Lexa made it clear when she turned her back that nothing Clarke said or did would deter her from her mission, and yet she still stood here waiting, hoping that maybe something did.

It was foolish and stupid and Clarke felt herself hating herself for letting herself worry the was she was, but she couldn’t help it. She felt responsible for the fact that Lexa was bending over backwards to the point of breaking. And she thought that maybe, if she wasn’t around, Lexa might not be working herself to the point of collapse. 

She looked at the mess of metal vials left on the table beside Lexa’s bed, the mess she had yet to clean up. She had spent days coming in every handful of hours to force feed an unconscious Lexa a slowly decreasing amount of Pewter so that her body might recover. She spent days feeling as if the state she was in was her fault, that it was her responsibility to fix. And now, not twenty four hours after Lexa has awoken, she going right back out into the fray and there was nothing Clarke could do to prevent it.

The doctor in her, the voice of her mother that’s wiggled its way into her subconscious, kept telling her that Lexa would benefit from another day of rest, but that wasn’t the voice in her head that was causing so much worry. The voice that dreaded Lexa’s venture into the mists was entirely her own. 

She took in a sharp breath and released it again with counted discipline. Now was not the time to worry about Lexa. The queen could take care of herself, and she had proven as much on more occasions that Clarke could count. Now was the time to think of the future, what this passed motion would mean for the people. Now was the time to plan for how her own people might react. Towards her, towards Lexa’s crew, towards the innocent Skaa who benefit from it all. Most nobles still saw Skaa as less than, not even people. Who was to say that they were not most at risk for the backlash of the Nobles.

She shouldn’t be worrying about Lexa. She should be worrying about Skaa.

Clarke turned heel and marched herself back down into the celebration. Everyone other than her was drunk on success and moonshine and Clarke hated being the only sober person in the room, so as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs Clarke poured herself a cup of the strong clear liquor and drained it in one gulp. 

“Looks like the Lady has come to party,” Octavia noted with a tinge of drunken slur to her voice. 

Clarke smiled and shrugged, pouring herself another cup. 

She should feel happy. This was the first time since arriving that Lexa crew had embraced her and made her feel like she belonged. It wasn’t a dream or a wish she had, but it still should have felt nice to finally be seen and accepted among the people she lived and work with. But, Clarke couldn’t tear her mind away from Lexa and the knowledge that she was out there alone. 

She sat down in a chair with her cup and stared into the clear liquor. 

“Something happen?” Octavia asked, flopping into a nearby chair and leaning forward. “Fifteen minutes  ago you were having a good time and now you look as pissed as your first night here.”

Clarke raised her shoulders and sipped more slowly at her moonshine. What was she supposed to say? She’s upset that Lexa went out into the mists alone? That she’s worried about the most powerful woman  Scadrial has ever seen? That she’s upset that Lexa didn’t listen to her and stay to celebrate with the rest of them? “It’s nothing,” she lied. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Octavia frowns at this and takes a long drink of the moonshine in her cup. She’s unstable on her feet now, swaying back and forth like the rest of the celebrating crew attempting to stay on their feet and enjoy their night and Clarke thought she wouldn’t tell them what was bothering her even if they were sober enough to do something about it because there’s no point. When it came to Lexa, everyone here did whatever she said without hesitation or concern. It’s like they saw her as this impossibly unrealistic hero and not a woman who took herself to the brink of death far more often than anyone should.

It was as if Lexa was more comfortable in death’s grip that she was around her own people. As if she had spent so much time working in the mists to free her people that she forgot what it was like to be a person all together. At least, that was what it felt like to Clarke. The woman never showed her anything that wasn’t a hardworking, determined mind, and now that they were finally given a chance to breathe, to relax, she turned it down in favor or intel collection on a man they know won’t make a move on them tonight.

Pike was crass and loud and maybe a little bit stupid, but he wasn’t reckless. He wouldn’t play his cards just yet, not when there was an opportunity to grow his platform first. Hell, Clarke thought, there was a higher chance of Cage Wallace joining his cause than there was Pike attacking tonight. 

“Thinking about what?” Octavia asked, her voice slurred and slow. “Come on. No one here knows you like I do. Something’s bothering you.”

Clarke’s lips formed into a thin line. 

“Has anyone seen Lexa?” Anya's voice burst suddenly. 

It took a few moments, but Octavia's eyes grew wide. She grabbed Clarke by the arm and dragged her through the shop, halfway up the stairs and said. “You saw her leave.”

Clarke pulled Octavia the rest of the way up the stairs and down the hall so that they were actually alone and said, “Yeah. I did.”

“Where’d she go?”

Clarke pointed down the hall towards the shared room. “She went to spy on Pike. What else?”

Octavia chewed on this a  moment, her stance still wobbly as she dissected Clarke's words bit by bit through her inebriated brain. Then it was like watching a light shine in her eyes, and Clarke knew the look on her face all too well. It was the same mischievous look that made her befriend  Aranea – Octavia – in the first place. That same look that said, ‘fuck the rules, let’s take what’s ours.’

“You’ve got an idea,” Clarke breathed quietly. “Do I want to know?”

Octavia smiled and nodded eagerly. “Let’s help her out,” Octavia said, more enthusiastic than Clarke thought possible. “Let’s go talk to Pike.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want everyone to know that when i went to edit this i had written in red text, "Lexa fucks shit up" instead of an entire, actually written scene.

Clarke wasn’t exactly sure what the hell was going through her head when she agreed to Octavia’s stupid plan, but looking back, she really wished she would have said no the whole thing. 

Her carriage dropped them off at the steps at the base of Keep Pike, and Clarke looked up at the highly armed and patrolled building with wide, drunken eyes. “Really should have thought this through more,” she said, looking up at the Hazekillers who stand guard. 

“Yeah,” Octavia agreed. “You’re probably right.” She stared right at one of the Hazekillers, her fingers clasped around an obsidian knife on her hip. “Should have definitely thought this through.” 

But it was too late now. They were standing on Pike’s property in the middle of the night, with no idea if Lexa was aware of their presence or not. 

They never saw her on the ride over, and they had kept their eyes glued to the windows and the sky for signs Allomancy. But it was a fruitless endeavor, the mists too thick and the ashfall too heavy, but they were just drunk enough to hope. Just drunk enough to follow through with this stupid, dangerous plan. Hell, they didn’t have a plan anymore. This was the plan: show up. 

That was it. 

“So uhh,” Octavia said, looking to Clarke. “You said Pike is your house’s ally, right?” 

Clarke nodded. “Something like that.” 

She reached for the door and rapped her knuckles against the heavy oak. “Here goes,” she said, swallowing her fear and anxiety as the sound of her knock echoed around them. 

They waited several long moments with the eyes of the Hazekiller guards locked upon them. During that time, Octavia whispered to Clarke, “At least they’re looking at us and not the Queen,” and the thought brought a comfort to her that she didn’t know she needed. If Lexa was here or anywhere nearby, she had a better chance of getting close if the Hazekillers were distracted. And if Lexa was nearby, that meant that someone was looking out for her as she fumbled through this awful, not thought out plan. 

The door creaked open and a Terrisman steward looked through the open door. “May I help you, Mistress?” the steward asked, his voice timid and soft and hardly more than a whisper in the mists that swirl around them. 

“My name is Clarke Griffin,” she said. “We’re friends of Lord Pike.” 

“Griffin,” the Terrisman repeated. “Yes, I see.” He closed the door on them and Octavia looked to Clarke with a raised eyebrow. 

The door opened again, wider this time, and the steward said, “Mistress Griffin has a guest, I see. Who are you?” 

“Octavia Blake,” she said. 

“Ah, Master Bellamy’s sister, I see. Yes. I have heard your name. You are welcomed here. Please, come in. The Master is that room there,” he said, pointing to a door at the back of the entrance hall. “He has wanted to speak with you, Mistress Griffin, for some time. If you would follow me.” 

They filed into a line behind the Terrisman, Clarke leading and Octavia gasping at the sight of the Pike’s Keep and the extravagancies that have gone into its design and furnishings. 

“Do you live like this too?” she asked, looking up at the painted ceiling. 

Clarke felt herself blush at the question, suddenly and for the first time in her life, embarrassed at the luxuries of her house and lifestyle. “My family’s Keep is similar, yes.” 

“And I thought the balls and parties were excessive,” she said, whistling at the size of the entrance hall and searching for an echo. “Damn.” 

The door that the Terrisman appeared to be leading them to opened suddenly, and Bellamy and Lady Green’s heads appeared from the other side. 

“Clarke!” Bellamy smiled widely at the sight of her and stepped through the door. He embraced her in a tight hug and said. “You’re here! Good! I’m so glad you’re safe.” 

Octavia scoffed behind her and if Clarke knew her at all as well as she thought she did, she’s certain that she rolled her eyes too. “We’re not monsters,” she said, her voice dripping with offense at her half-brother's words. 

Bellamy released Clarke and scratched the back of his head. “I know _you’re_ not,” he defended quickly. “But I’m allowed to be worried about my friend. Aren’t I?” 

“Doesn’t sound like you mean that,” Octavia said. 

“O,” Bellamy tried. “I didn’t mean—” 

“Sure,” Octavia said. “Whatever. Can we not do this here?” 

“I’m glad you’re well, Clarke,” said Lady Green. “I know my Monty worries about you every day.” 

Clarke forced herself to smile and said, “I’m doing excellent, actually. Queen Lexa takes good care of her guests.” 

“You’re not a guest, Clarke,” Bellamy said with a frown. “Your mother traded you away to keep us alive. You’re a prisoner. Just because it doesn’t feel like you are sometimes doesn’t make it not true.” 

“Bell,” Clarke said, glancing at a fuming Octavia behind her. “Not now.” 

“Right,” Bellamy said. “Sure.” He stepped aside and waved a hand towards the door. “You came to talk to Pike, right? He’s happy that you’re here.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Octavia said in a sing-song voice. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

Bellamy raised a hand, stopping their advance through the door. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t let you through until your searched for weapons and metal.” 

Octavia groaned and threw her knife onto the ground before unstrapping her coin purse and her belt and throwing it down as well. 

Bellamy ran his fingers over Clarke in a quick search and then moved to Octavia with several hushed apologies towards his enraged sister. Their relationship was strange and rocky, but one thing that made her believe in the best of Bellamy was his desire to get to know his Skaa sister. If he was truly a bad guy, she thought, he wouldn’t care to know her at all. He’d see her as a stain on the bloodline, and would have attempted to assassinate her the moment he learned of her existence. She could only hope that now that he was head of his house and not just a wide-eyed, idealistic heir, that that part of Bellamy still existed somewhere. 

“Okay,” he said after checking them over. “Come on in.” 

They were welcomed into the room and the first thing Clarke noticed was the towers of bookshelves that lined the walls. She never took Pike for a well-read man, but seeing his study for the first time told a different story. It made sense that if he was well-read, her father would have liked the man. He was always fond of people who enjoyed expanding their minds. 

Pike stood near the hearth in the center of the room where a couch and two chairs sat facing the well-tended fire. He had a drink in one hand and a book in the other and when his eyes cast themselves onto Clarke, he smiled softly and placed the book onto the arm of the couch. “Clarke,” he said. “The Skaa Queen let you out of her sights, I see.” 

Clarke frowned, feeling uncertain about the way Pike addressed her and Lexa. “Lexa didn’t,” she said, pausing when that felt like the wrong way to start. “The Queen doesn’t—” 

“Clarke is free to come and go as she pleases,” Octavia said for her, her voice angry and sharp. 

“If she were,” Pike said, his voice teetering on growling. “She’d have returned home to her mother by now. She’s worried sick about you, Clarke.” 

Clarke bit down on her cheeks and looked at the floor. “I saw her a few days ago,” she said, feeling guilty for not seeing her more. “She came by the shop.” 

“Did she now,” Pike said, his eyes narrowing. “She must have forgotten to tell me about that when we last spoke.” 

“She must have,” Octavia spat. 

Clarke’s bite on her cheeks grew harder. She was grateful that her mother kept the trip to the shop to herself given that the whole point was in regards to Lexa’s pewter dragging and subsequent passing out, but Clarke had definitely put them into a sore spot with Pike now that she’s revealed that her mother wasn’t being honest with him. “She just came to bring those little iced cakes. You know the ones she makes. With lemon and salmonberry.” 

It's clear to Clarke that Pike didn't buy her tale, as true as her words were, and she watched as Pike pressed his lips into a hard line and folded his arms over his chest, debating his words. She could tell he was trying not to Riot her or anyone else in the room, at least for now, and if that were the case, his word choice needed to be precise in order to get what he’s searching for: proof that Clarke was being mistreated by the Skaa. 

“Your mother’s visits aside,” he began. “We’ve all been worried about you. Myself, Bellamy and Hannah included. You belong back with your people, not in some slum shop. It's clear to everyone that your actions as an ambassador are affected by your conditions. If the Skaa Queen really cared about you or your opinion, she would send you home where you belong and let you make decisions without your safety being on the line.” 

“Clarke,” Hannah said. “If you’re really free, then you’d come home.” 

“My living with Lexa has nothing to do with how I voted today,” Clarke defended. “In fact. The assembly today is exactly why I came to see you.” 

Pike’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Is it? Octavia, don’t touch that.” 

Somewhere in all their talk, Octavia had wandered across the room and was about to pull out a book from one of the shelves. She scowled at Pike and rolled his eyes at her visible anger as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. 

“Bellamy,” Pike said. “Deal with your sister while I speak with Clarke, please.” 

“If you think I'm leaving her alone with you than you’re crazier than you look,” Octavia said. 

“Go with Bellamy,” Clarke told her. “I’ll be okay.” 

Octavia growled at this and stomped her way out of the room when Bellamy tried to touch her arm. 

“She’s a feisty one,” Pike said once the door shut and Clarke was left alone with Charles and Hannah. 

“She’s my friend,” Clarke said. 

Pike waved a hand and took a seat, gesturing for Clarke to do the same. “She’s a distraction, is what she is. Please, sit down. Let’s talk about the assembly.” 

Clarke walked through the room and seated herself across from Pike in one of the chairs. They’re rather firm and uncomfortable to sit in, and she struggled to find a comfortable way to sit between the chair and Pike’s angry stare. Eventually, she settled into something semi-comfortable and breathed a sigh. 

“Clarke,” he said in a tone that sounds disappointed and concerned, as if he were playing father to her. “Do you realize what sort of message you send when you break away from the majority?” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow. For the assembly and its ambassadors, Nobles were easily the smallest group. They may be the economical majority, but for the purposes of the assembly, they were the minority. Their votes hardly mattered at all if the eight Skaa agreed on something. “The majority?” she asked. 

“You,” he told her. “And I already know about that boy Wells’ crush on you. He’ll vote however you do so that means that his vote is on you.” Pike pressed his arms into his chair and leaned forward. “How do you think it makes us, as nobles, look when you don’t align yourself with the needs of your own people?” 

“You think we need the boxings?” Clarke asked. 

“I think your time with the Skaa rebels is clouding your judgment,” he said. “You forget who you are and to be honest, Clarke, I'm worried that if you spend any more time with those people in the slums, you might end up making a decision that you will come to regret. And I have too much love and respect for your father to sit by and watch you ruin your life.” 

“What’s your plan then?” Clarke asked. “Lexa killed the Lord Ruler. You can’t very well tell her what to do so... you have to be planning something.” 

“Step one,” Pike admitted. “Is to return you to your mother. And while I am willing to do whatever it takes to bring you home, knowing that you made the decision yourself would make this a lot easier for everyone.” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow in challenge. “And if I don’t choose that?” 

Pike frowned. “Then I guess I'll have no choice but to keep you here until you see reason again.” 

Clarke pushed herself to her feet. “You can’t do that,” she said, storming across the room. “You can’t hold me prisoner. Lexa will—” 

“Do you think I haven’t made appropriate preparations for that woman? That Skaa has been watching me for months. So I watched her. And now my entire keep is staffed especially for dealing with her. Your arrival tonight may have been unpredictable, but that doesn’t make me any less prepared.” 

Clarke pulled on the door to the room, but it was locked now from the outside and she was trapped in the study with Pike. Hannah Green was here too, but she had done nothing to stop this. And Clarke could see in her eyes that she truly believed that what Pike was doing was the right thing. 

“I gave you the chance to make this easy, Clarke. I’m sorry it has to be like this.” 

* * *

"Where the hell are Clarke and Octavia?” 

Lexa’s entire crew was a wasted disaster. Not a single one of them was even remotely capable of being coherent or useful to her and she was certain that her yelling demands were ringing on deaf ears. 

She had come back to the shop after finding that not even the mists could clear her head of the image of Clarke asking her to stay. There was no point in trying to get anything done if she was distracted and, Clarke was right, Pike wouldn’t be trying anything this soon. The only problem was when she got back, Clarke and Octavia were nowhere to be found. 

She repeated herself again to her crew, angrier than before. “Where the hell are Clarke and Octavia?” 

Lexa hated having to repeat herself, and were it not for the fact that she had given them all the night off for the specific purpose of becoming useless from alcohol, she would be ripping the entire crew apart in her demand for answers. 

Anya, whose eyes were barely open and her face the reddest Lexa had ever seen it, sat more upright from her seat on one of the couches and rubbed her eyes. “They were here earlier,” she said. “Been a while, though.” 

“I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” Gustus said. “Why would they leave?” 

She turned on her heels and marched across the shop and into another room where Aden and Indra were, hoping one of them might have the answers she desired. “When was the last time you saw them?” 

“They were drinking on the couch for a while but...” Aden trailed off, tapping his chin with his finger as he strained to remember where they went. 

Lexa scowled at Aden and turned to Indra. “You let him drink?” 

Indra scratched her head and defensively said, “It was a celebration. He got one cup.” 

Lexa rolled her eyes. “You better have something useful for me, Indra.” 

“Octavia said something about finding you,” Indra said. “But she never mentioned anything about Clarke.” 

Lexa ground her teeth together so tightly they felt as if they may crumble between the pressure. “You didn’t think to keep an eye on our guest?” 

It’s clear to Lexa that Aden and Indra were the soberest of them all, but even that wasn’t saying much. Indra in particular still wobbled in her chair as she nursed a glass of ashy water and chewed a slice of flat bread that was burnt on one end. Her fingers pressed against her forehead as she chewed, trying her best to recall what happened to Clarke with what little semblance of memory she retained. “I thought she’d stay and celebrate. What good would it do Clarke to go out into mists? She doesn’t know her way around the slums well enough to brave the mists alone.” 

“Which is why Octavia is with her,” Lexa said, feeling a wave of anger roll over her at the realization that the two of them are out somewhere in the city, being drunk and stupid, looking for her. “They’ve gone to Pike,” she realized. “Idiots.” 

Lexa turned on her heels again. “Get everyone sobered up. Now,” she demanded as she marched back through the shop. “We need to find them before someone else does.” 

Anya rolled off the couch and slapped her face between her hands several times, perking just enough to seem a bit like her usual self when she answered Lexa’s commands with a slurred, “Got it,” while slapping Lincoln in the chest to jerk him into gear. 

“We’ll get right to it,” Lincoln added hastily as he stood. 

She watched as her crew fumbled into gear, and she groaned at the realization that every last one of them was going to be painfully useless in tracking them down. Still, she wasn’t about to let them not do anything. “I need Tineyes on the roof now. The rest of you, get geared up and get out into the streets. Indra and Lincoln take the southern streets and fan out. Gustus, you take Tristan and Titus and use the northern, but keep your general direction headed towards the Noble districts in the east.” 

“What about you?” Aden asked as pulled on his boots. 

“I’m going to head to Pike’s Keep,” Lexa said. “No one calls it a night until we find them. Convene back here in one hour. If someone doesn’t report in, we assume they need help. Got it?” 

She got back a cacophony of slurred, semi assuring replies from throughout the shop that Lexa had no choice but to accept. Then, she nodded to Aden, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Find her, Aden.” 

He nodded and told her, “We will.” 

Lexa turned then and ran out the front door, flipping a coin onto the ground and pushing against it to send herself flying into the skies. She bounced up and down with her Allomancy, leaping through the air as fast as she could push and pull against the metals within her reach. Pike’s Keep was across the river, closer to Kredick Shaw, but she knew the path well enough to know that it was not outside the realm of possibility that Clarke was there now. If she had called a carriage, it's likely that she’s been there for some time. 

She fell through the sky, and flipped another coin down into her path and pushed, flying back up and over the buildings. She could see the river from here through her tin enhanced eyes and she pulled on a piece of metal mounted to the side of a building that sent her flying across the city. She reached out again, found the next familiar metal source and pulled on it, changing her trajectory with a dizzying lurch that made her head spin. She had never traveled this route this fast, but she knew that even now, it wasn’t fast enough. 

She should never have left her crew alone. They were all too drunk off their victory and thought too much of themselves to be left alone. She should never have left Clarke when she asked her to stay. She should have listened to that part of herself that wanted Clarke to be right – that knew deep down that she was. If she had only listened. If she had only let herself relax, let herself have the things she’s wanted deep down. Lexa shook her head. This wasn’t the time to chastise herself. She needed to focus. For Clarke’s sake. For Octavia’s too. 

Lexa flared her tin as she fell, scanning the city for anything that might look like movement. She grabbed another source of metal across the river, flung herself to the other side and flipped a coin so she was shooting up into the skies again. From here she could see Pike’s Keep and with her Tineyes, she could see how armed and dangerous he had become. And then she sees at the gate a familiar carriage – Clarke's carriage – and she knew that she had no time to waste. 

She landed on the ground with a soft thud, not bothering to scoop up the coin she had used to soften her landing before burning pewter and hurling herself at breakneck speeds through the twisting alleys and empty streets. She was faster when she ran, but the river was wide and easier to cross when she was air born with Allomancy. From here, the fastest way to Clarke was on foot. 

The last thing Lexa needed was for Pike to take advantage of this. She knew how he felt about Clarke’s living with Lexa and she knew even better that he would consider returning her to her people an inaugural part of whatever his plan of action may be. She may not know what his plan was in its totality, but she was no fool. She knew that returning Clarke to her people from a self-proclaimed Queen who held her captive was a strong platform to stand on when trying to take rule and power for yourself. 

She turned a corner, slid on the graveled path and dug her nails into the cobblestone to slow her skid. She pulled herself back into a sprint as her pewter enhanced muscles ripped the stones from the street and hurl them behind her. From here it was a straight shot. From here she could see Pike’s Keep. 

With a jump, Lexa flew through the air. She grabbed onto a muntin bar over a window and yanked herself up onto the roof. From here she stopped to gatherer herself, to calm her racing thoughts. She couldn’t help Clarke if she was succumbing to her own imagination. And she would be far from the woman who killed an immortal god if she let Pike take advantage of her for allowing herself to become overrun with rampant emotions. 

That part of her she found the night she killed the Lord Ruler. That piece of herself she didn’t know she had... she needed to find it again, and she needed to find it now. 

She sucked in a breath, counted the exhale and turned her attention to the Allomancers and Hazekillers that stood in her path. There 

Mistings she could deal with. Hazekillers she could handle. But if one among them was Mistborn... If her watchful shadow was employed by Pike... 

No, she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. She needed to get closer. That was the first step. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to get in her way. 

She leaped from the roof of the house over the wall of Keep Pike and ran along the shadows it cast over. She kept an eye on the blue lines that protruded from her chest, looking for something solid she could pull on to bring her closer or something moving that might indicate a Coinshot or a Lurcher. 

Lexa paused, her eyes scanning up the windows and finding Clarke standing in a room with Pike on the second floor. She was yelling, Lexa could tell by the way her neck was strained and the way she threw her arms down when she spoke. But Pike seemed to be indifferent to her words. He waved a hand and two guards entered into view just long enough to follow Pike the door that was just barely within the frame of the window. Clarke ran to the door, banged and pulled and shouted, and Lexa could hear through her tin enhanced ears as she screamed Pike’s name over and over and begged him to let her go. 

She was locked in. Pike was going to keep her here which could only mean that he knew Lexa was coming. He wanted her to. 

In her frozen state, she watched as two Hazekillers passed one another on patrol just yards in front of her, and held her breath. This was as far as she was going to go without taking someone out. There were too many of them, and someone among them had to be a Tineye, she could feel the pulse of their Allomancy from the rooftops thanks to her bronze. The fact that she hadn’t been spotted yet at all was a miracle and she was pushing her luck even by standing here like a statue before these Hazekillers. 

Grateful for the heavy ashfall and the swirling mists to cover her, Lexa inches backward a few steps as the Hazekiller guards separated and continued down their route. She pulled on the hood of her mist cloak and reached for her opal daggers at her hip. If she was going to take them out... now might as well be the time. 

Lexa gripped her blade between her fingers, sucked in a breath of cold air, and tensed the muscles in her calves as she bent over into a sprinters stance and readied herself to strike. She waited until the guards were far enough apart, then blasted forward with all the strength pewter could give her legs. She crossed the field in an instant, and the Hazekiller only had enough time to turn and see her before she was upon him. She reached out with a jump, her hand gripping the hair of the leather clad mercenary as she flipped overhead. She pulled him down as she landed, bending him over backward and kicking his feet out from under him as her boots slid across the cobblestone. His head collided with the ground with an audible crack and Lexa kicked the wooden baton out of his twitching hands and across the field. 

She turned, kicked off into another sprint and lunged for the other guard. Unlike the first, this one was waiting for her assault. He swung his dueling cane as he twisted around to face her and Lexa barely had enough time to react. She jumped back, dodged the swing and lunged again. She jabbed upward with her knife, grazed the skin of the Hazekiller’s cheek, but missed her mark by mere inches and in the process, opened herself up to a painful counterstrike. 

The mercenary swung again, this time connecting the dueling cane with her side. Lexa yelped and stumbled back, her wrapping around her torso to press into what had to be fractured bones. She flared pewter, silencing the pain with her Allomancy and sucked in a sharp breath as she adjusted her footing and absorbed her surroundings in an instant. 

She watched the Hazekiller’s body tense, read his movements and jumped to the side as he swung his cane. Lexa reached out, grabbed the cane as it crashed into the ground and pulled on the object with pewter surging through her muscles. Her enemy stumbled forward, the cane slipping from his grip and Lexa swung the cane as hard as she could with her nondominant arm in an upward arc that knocked the man out and sent his teeth flying. 

More guards were approaching, both on the ground floor and atop the Keep and Lexa spun around and looked up towards the top of the Keep just in time to see nocked arrows pointed down at her. Instinctively, she pushed with steel against them, but the arrows didn’t budge. “Shit,” she cursed, rolling out of the way as several stone-tipped arrows rained down on her position. 

She broke out into a run to avoid the arrows but her tin enhanced ears caught wind of each and every stone arrowhead crashing into the ground at her heels. She pulled a coin from the pouch at her hip and threw it onto the ground. Running over it, she pushed against the coin and flew upward into the air. She clenched her knife-wielding hand and drove her knuckles up with a powerful uppercut that crashed hard into the jaw of one of the archers, sending them both flying into the air. Lexa continued to push against the coin until she was high above the keep. Then, at the top of her arc, she felt the pulse of Allomancy with the bronze she was burning. 

A flurry of coins pummeled through the air towards her and in a desperate attempt to save herself, Lexa pushed back against the hurling metal. She was significantly smaller than the Coinshot though, and the difference in their size flung Lexa back by the crashing forces of their Allomancy. She reached for a source of metal, anything to stabilize herself, and pulled hard. It dragged her across the Keep and onto the rooftop and Lexa stumbled with her landing, a powerful shock reverberating up her legs and into her spine. 

She looked around, caught the gaze of two mercenary soldiers and cursed under her breath. Both flung spiked shrapnel shards in her direction and Lexa jumped up and pulled the metal towards her as she arched over their now skewed trajectory. Her foot crashed into one of the soldiers and she slashed at his neck with her knife. He hit the ground, gurgling and choking, and Lexa grabbed the bag of metal from his hip and flung the entirety of its contents at the other mercenary and pushed on the metals with a flare of Steel. 

There was a pained cry as the metal cut through the Hazekiller’s flesh and Lexa took the opportunity to get a sprinting start for the edge of the Keep. She ran off the edge, letting herself freefall through the mists, her mistcloak dancing with the swirls of mist, and just as she came level with the windows, she pulled on the first metal source she could find and crashed into the glass. She rolled into the room, her back slamming into the wall, stopping her momentum. She groaned, caught her head in her hand, and stumbled to her feet. She didn’t know where was in relation to Clarke or even what floor she was on, but she was inside now, and Pike was going to pay. 

She was in some sort of intricately decorated room near the top of the keep, the walls decorated with pelts of fur and global treasures. There was a safe in the corner of the room and if Lexa had the time, she would have pulled the metal frame apart and scavenged the safe for Atium, a rare and expensive metal that could mean the difference between life and death in a battle between Mistborn. Thinking about her watcher, the Mistborn shadow that constantly follows her, she realized how much could really benefit from a bead or two of the rare metal. But she didn’t have time for that now, and given the circumstances, she might never find herself here again. It was a loss she had no choice but to accept if she wanted to get herself, Octavia, and Clarke out of here in one piece. 

Lexa ran to the door and pulled it open. She cast her gaze left, then right down the hall. There were no mercenaries here yet, but she could hear shouting in all directions, people coming for her, and soon. With nothing but time to lose, she chose a path at random and bolted down the hall. She didn’t know what floor she was on, but she knew that it was higher up than Clarke. She had to find stairs, make her way down, and scour every floor until she found some clue to either Clarke’s position or Lexa’s position in relation to that. 

She needed to find Octavia too, but the woman was a skilled Misting. If Octavia could find a source of metal, any source of metal, Lexa was certain she’d be able to fight her way out. Lexa just had to hope that she was just sober enough to do it. 

There was a stairwell at the end of the hall and Lexa jumped down two, three, four steps at a time. She nearly crashed into a mercenary in her decent, her feet crashing into a thick slab of wood. She pushed off of it, landed back on the stairs, and watched as the leather-clad mercenary readied a long obsidian blade and a heavy wooden shield. 

Lexa adjusted her grip on her opal knife and brought her arm up to challenge the mercenary. Sharpened stones clashed, Lexa’s knife parrying a stab with a deafening scrape. The mercenary changed his stance, his feet shifting as he twisted his entire body and slammed Lexa into the wall, the blade of her knife the only thing separating her from being sliced in two by the obsidian sword. 

A wave of pain erupted in her back but Lexa flared her pewter, ignoring the state of her metal reserves and drove her heel into the mercenary’s shield. The force sent him hurling down the stairs and Lexa followed him down. She stepped on his chest as she passed him, eliciting a weak gasp from the man she chose to ignore and she pressed onto the next floor to begin her search. 

“Clarke,” Lexa called as she ran down the hall. “Clarke!” 

She flared her Tin, seeking anything that might sound like Clarke’s voice as she opened door after door. She growled at the end of the hall, finding nothing to aid her in her search and turned the corner to start the process over with the next hall. Then, she heard it. It was distant and quiet, even with her Tin enhanced ears, but she heard the bang of a body against a door. 

Lexa raced down the halls of the Keep, ignoring the thump of boots that was quickly closing in on her. She ripped open the door, shouted Clarke’s name, and found Octavia standing on the other side. 

Octavia’s eye was swelling shut and her hands were bound behind her back. Her jacket was slumped off one shoulder, exposing a swelling arm from where she had been pounding against the door. “Lexa,” she said, stumbling back a few feet. “You’re here.” 

Lexa looked around the room. It was empty of anything that might be usable as a weapon. There was an area rug in the center of the room and Lexa’s eyes honed in on the depressions in the rug, signs that this room was once lavishly furnished before being converted to some sort of hastily constructed Allomancer holding room. 

“Of course I’m here,” Lexa said, looking around the room for clues. She grabbed Octavia’s non-swollen shoulder and turned her around so that she could unbind her wrists. “Where’s Clarke?” 

“I’m not sure,” Octavia said as she wiggled herself free from the loosened ropes. She twisted one wrist between her hand and then the other, flexing her fingers and popping her knuckles before shaking her hands to get the blood flowing again. “Bellamy, he... We were talking – arguing – about our father, and then I heard screaming and... He knocked me out before I could get back to her.” 

Lexa looked over her shoulder, the stomping of merc boots and the shouts of their assault getting dangerously close now and there were more than she initially thought. She could identify six distinctive voices coming from two different directions. Someone found the mercenary she left on the stairs, and a seventh soldier was added to the hunt. 

“I’d love to stand around and figure out what the hell was going through your mind to think coming here was a good idea, but we have to move.” Lexa unstrapped her coin purse from her waist and handed it to Octavia. “Don’t make me regret giving you this the way I regret trusting you to keep Clarke safe.” 

Octavia smiled voraciously and tied the bag to her hip, her fingers dipping in and rattling the coins with an expression of pure pleasure splitting her features. “Oh,” she said, her smile turning wicked and wild. “You won’t.” 

* * *

Clarke slid down the door, her voice giving out and her arms weak and lost for strength. She was locked in a room void of everything. No metal, no wood, no chairs or books or maps on the wall. Just deep red walls, hardwood floors, and a window so high up off the ground that jumping out of it would surely kill her. 

It was stupid to come here. She was stupid for not seeing it sooner. She was stupid for believing that Bellamy was a good man. And now it was Lexa and Octavia who were going to suffer the consequences of her mistakes. 

She caught her head in her hands and fought back the burn of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t cry now. Crying was going to help anyone, especially her. She needed to think, get her head on straight, find a way to signal out to Lexa – wherever she may be – that she needed her help. 

Clarke leaned forward onto her hands and knees and crawled away from the door into the center of the room. She pushed herself up ono her knees and looked out the window – the only structure in the room. There was nothing to see but ash and mist and Clarke slumped down at the realization that she could do nothing to get her bearings until sunrise and by then, it was all too late anyway. 

She wondered what it was Pike planned to do. Obviously this wasn’t a part of his original plan, her being here pushing up his time table and changing several elements he had been working out. But the fact remained that Pike felt comfortable enough with that plan to take advantage of Clarke’s poor decision making. She couldn’t see how keeping her captive until she changed her mind about returning to her mother was at all useful or viable, which meant that even though he wanted to keep her alive, returning her to her mother couldn’t be the core of his plan. 

He must have been after Lexa. It was the only thing that made any sense. And it’s with that realization that Clarke found herself hoping more than anything that Lexa wouldn’t come to save her. 

Clarke pushed herself to her feet and walked to the window. She pressed her palm against the glass, felt the cool night air through the panes, and wondered if Lexa was somewhere out there looking for her. Looking for a way inside. 

She heard shouting through the window and Clarke pressed her face to the glass to no avail. It was too muffled and too distant to make out and the mists were too thick to see through. Defeated by the night, Clarke frowned and pushed away from the window, turning her back to the ruckus outside and refocusing her attention on figuring out Pike’s plan. Whatever it was. 

The door to the room clicked and Clarke’s attention shot to the unlocked door just as it began to swing open. Four men cast in leather armor with blades of black obsidian, shields of wood, and dueling canes stormed into the room. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a flat nose, marched up to Clarke and shoved her down onto the floor. 

“You do anything to tell her our position,” he threatened, placing a razor-sharp black blade against her neck. “And I’ll rip out your throat.” 

The rational side of Clarke’s brain told her that he wouldn’t actually go as far as to rip her throat out, but the threat of injury itself was too great to challenge. She nodded mutely and pressed her hands into her knees, her gaze falling to the floor. 

She sat in silence, listened to the screams of men and thuds in the ceiling. Something was happening above her and Clarke was struck with equal parts relief and fear that the person responsible for it all was Lexa. One the one hand, being rescued was exactly what she personally needed and Lexa was a powerful Mistborn who had the fighting chops to bust her way through Pike’s security. On the other hand, Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexa being here to rescue her was exactly what he wanted. As if he had some sort of trapped lined out. 

Clarke squeezed her hands into fists, pressed her eyes tight, and continued to listen to the fighting above her. Hazekillers were trained, elite mercenaries whose only purpose was to fight Allomancers. They wore no metal, arming themselves with leather and wood and obsidian, and their training was so extensive that they could recognize all forms of Allomancy as well as an Allomancer themselves. Pike had dozens at his disposal, all elite, all lesser nobleman desperate to keep their status in this post Lord Ruler world. Between that desperation and their reputation, Clarke wasn’t sure Lexa would be able to stop them all. 

Still, the fighting continued to rage above her, and Clarke sat in silence with an obsidian sword pressed against her skin. 

She assumed the four sent here were sent for two reasons. One, they knew it was only a matter of time before Lexa found her way here, and judging by the sounds above, its wasn’t going to be much longer before she did. And two, they were the strongest and most elite among them. The ones most confident with facing not just a Mistborn, but powerful Mistborn anyone has seen in a thousand years. 

One of the Hazekillers rolls his shoulders and shifts his weight, almost impatient with the waiting. Another taps his dueling cane into the floor in a repeating pattern. The flat-nosed man with his sword against her neck growls at her, his eyes looking down at her as if she’s less than scum. Judging by his height, tidy hair and fair skin, he’s got to be a lesser noble – one that Pike has convinced about Clarke being a traitor to her people. 

Clarke swallowed thickly and stared back at him with a scornful gaze, refusing to let herself be seen as weak or intimidated by a man of lesser nobility. She was the heir of the third most powerful house in the Final Empire. She was an ambassador of the Nobles in the new world. She was the confidant of the Queen and the daughter of Jacob Griffin. No lesser noble, not even one with a blade against her neck, was going to hold power over her. She refused. 

He laughed at her determination, smiled widely at her sneer and said, “Let’s not pretend you have any power here. When this is all over, the name Griffin will be nothing more than a bad taste in my mouth.” 

“You think Pike is going to give you power,” she spat. “Some no-name family? If you’re that deranged then I’ll wager Lexa will have you beat in ten seconds.” 

The sword pressed harder against her neck. “I’m going to enjoy cutting out your tongue in front of that Skaa bitch. And since you love the Skaa so much, I’ll even shove it down her throat for you.” 

Clarke grit her teeth, her jaw searing with pain from the immense pressure of her anger. She could feel her teeth grinding, hear the scrape of them in her head. “Just try it,” Clarke said, her voice cold and quiet. “I dare you.” 

A scream erupted from just outside the door and a crashing sound followed just behind it. The four Hazekillers in the room stiffened at the sound, the two in the front raising their weapons and sliding their feet into a fight ready stance. 

“Get ready boys,” the flat nose guard growled. “And keep her alive, will you? I want to make Griffin watch her suffer first.” 

The door slammed open, kicked so hard by Lexa’s pewter raged form that it tore off the bottom hinges and hung splintered and broke from the frame at a skewed angle. She was glowering, her face smeared with blood and black ash that made her eyes glow like green fire. She had a single knife in her hands, blood from a stab wound rolling down her side, and Octavia – spinning a hovering coin between her palms through a display of Allomancy – standing behind her. 

“Lexa,” she shouted, but that was all there was time for. The instant Lexa’s eyes met Clarke’s the Hazekiller’s pounced. 

The tallest and leanest of them all led the charge, swinging his dueling cane so hard that broke into the wall with a resonating crack when Lexa jumped to avoid it. She landed deeper into the room, surrounding herself with enemies, the tendril straps of her mistcloak fluttering around her like mist. Her foot slid across the floor and Lexa’s whole body pivoted into a powerful punch. It crashed into the wooden shield, splinters flying as it cracked under the power of her attack. 

The shielded mercenary stumbled back, his arms flailing as he tried to steady himself and Lexa followed after him with dizzying speed. She grabbed his shirt and pulled on the fabric, yanking him into her waiting fist again, this time connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. 

She turned, ducked under the swing of a sword and coins shot through the sky. Their trajectory skewed and instead of hitting the mercenary with dueling cane, they flew across the room to the Hazekiller with the shield who Lexa had turned her attention away from. 

Something in Clarke’s brain clicked. The Hazekiller was a Lurcher; an Allomancer who could pull on metals the way Octavia pushed them. From the door, Octavia cursed loudly, ducked under a swing of an obsidian sword and slid her leg down into a sweeping kick that managed to connect enough with her assailant to throw them off balance. 

“We got a Lurcher,” Octavia shouted to Lexa. 

“I see that,” Lexa said with a strangely cool tone, her knife catching the swing of the cane and parrying it away. 

Lexa stepped backward with the slightest limp, her left foot leaving prints of blood behind, and she grabbed a glass vial from her hip. 

Her metal reserves were low, Clarke realized, and that was her last vial. 

She watched Lexa swerve out of the way of the dueling cane again, knocking it away with her little opal knife, but then something grabbed Clarke viciously and yanked her backward. She landed hard, her head bouncing off the wooden floors and making the world spin and twist, her blood pumping so hard through her veins that it sounded like a waterfall in her ears. 

She heard the flat-nosed mercenary yell, “Break that _fucking_ vial,” but all Clarke could do was squeeze her eyes shut and wrap her fingers around her head while tears forced their way to her eyes and pained whimpers escaped through clenched teeth. 

There was the scrape of stone swords, the crack of dueling canes against wood, and the ring of more metal flying across the room hitting Clarke’s ears before she managed to force her eyes to open again. She caught sight of Lexa flying across the room, Octavia’s arm getting bit by sharpened obsidian and a pained howl rolled in Clarke’s ears over the pulsing of blood and ring of her dizzying state. 

Lexa roared as another punch crashed into the wooden shield, cracking it so badly that when the Lurcher pushed Lexa away it split when her fist separated from the wood. Splinters flew across the room and Lexa stumbled back. She turned, raised her arms over her face just in time to blow a swipe cane that sent her slamming into the wall. 

Octavia jumped over her, slammed her shoulder into the Lurcher and drove them both into a wall with an enraged scream. Her fist connected with the Lurcher’s face, the sound of bones cracking sending a horrible shiver down Clarke’s spine. 

The vial Lexa had pulled from her hip rolled across the floor and Lexa screamed in pain as an obsidian blade pierced her stomach. It was the sword of the flat-nosed mercenary, and Clarke watched as a twisted smile pulled across his lips as he broke into laughter over Lexa’s pain. 

She kicked at the Hazekiller, groaning as the blade was yanked from her body and she slumped against the wall in pain, her hand pressing into the wound and growing red with her blood. 

Clarke crawled across the floor, each press of her palms into the wood sending her spinning through space and time. She fumbled, her wrists twisting and threatening to give out with each inch she pushed herself. She just needed the vial. She needed the metals suspended within the oil. If she could just get to it… 

Her fingers wrapped around the vial. 

“Get down,” Lexa croaked, and Clarke dropped to her stomach as the whistle of wood rang over her head. “Left!” She rolled to the side at Lexa's command, the dueling cane coming down hard against the floor beside her. 

Octavia abandoned her brutal beating on the Lurcher and charged the one assaulting her so hard that the cane flew from his grip. They fell to the ground, Octavia on top of the mercenary, struggling to keep power over the large, muscled man beneath her. 

“Octavia!” Clarke scrambled to her feet and pushed through the dizzying spell and the blurred vision and shook away the patches of blackness that threatened to take over her as she sprinted across the room. She grabbed the dueling cane, slid across the wooden floor and pulled the cane up over her head, driving it down into the mercenary's skull with a wet crunch. 

Octavia fumbled to her feet, wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand, and turned to face the two obsidian-wielding Hazekillers remaining in the fight. 

“Thanks,” she said, spitting blood onto the floor and taking the cane from Clarke. She felt the weight in her hands, swung the cane across her body, flicking the blood off the polished wood and onto the ground. 

Clarke looked at the Hazekillers, stared into the eyes of the guard who threatened to cut her tongue from her throat. He was glowering now, his teeth grinding as he sidestepped closer to the other sword-wielding mercenary. “You little bitch.” he spat and Clarke sneered back from the safety of Octavia’s protective bubble. “You think you’re getting out of here? I’m nothing compared to what’s on its way. And if this is the best your Skaa queen can do, you’re all as good as dead.” 

“Oh, I'm going to enjoy this,” Octavia said and she stepped forward to challenge him. 

“O! Stop!” 

Clarke turned her attention to the doorway. Bellamy was standing there with more mercenaries behind him than she could count and a dueling cane pressed against Lexa’s throat, pinning her to the wall and forcing weak choking gasps from her lips. His forehead was wrinkled and his expression read something that Clarke wanted, wished, she could believe was some sort of hesitation. 

Octavia stepped forward, raising the cane with one hand as she reached into the pouch on her hip with the other. “You son of a bitch,” she said. 

“Octavia, wait,” Clarke pleaded. 

“Why should I?” Octavia demanded. 

“He’s a Thug,” Clarke explained. “You can’t overpower that.” 

Bellamy frowned and said, “Put down the cane, Octavia.” 

Octavia growled and threw the cane on the ground. 

“And the coins.” Bellamy turned to Clarke and pointed to the vial in her hands. “Get rid of that too,” he instructed. 

“Bellamy—” 

“Now, Clarke.” 

Clarke squeezed the vial between her fingers. “Let’s talk about this.” 

Bellamy swallowed thickly, his fingers squeezed around the cane and eliciting a weak gurgle from Lexa as she clawed at the cane pressing harder into her throat. “You want to talk,” he said, his voice nearly choking. “The mighty heiress of House Griffin, who chose the Skaa over her own people, who turned her back on us when we tried to rescue her. You _... you_ want to talk.” 

Octavia stretched arm over Clarke protectively and said, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Bellamy,” Clarke urged. “I didn’t come here to start all this violence. I came here to explain things. To tell Pike, you – everyone – that we were all going to be okay. This taxation is our dues, but it’s not going to ruin us. Lexa isn’t out to destroy the Nobles. She’s trying to help us, everyone. We decided that—” 

“Why do _you_ get to decide what’s best for the Nobles?” 

Clarke hesitated, sucked in a breath and stepped forward, desperate to reach the man who was once one of her closest friends. “We did our part—” 

Bellamy's eyes widened. “We?” 

“Lexa and I— Bellamy, we have to fix this. You’re letting Pike ruin everything.” 

“That’s not what the Nobles think. They think _you're_ the problem. Maybe you’d know that if you were here to talk to your own people.” 

“Please,” she pleaded. “Bellamy. You have to tell me this isn’t what you want. Tell me _war_ isn't what you want.” 

Behind Bellamy, the sea of mercenaries, still gathering and growing, began to part and she could see the shining bald head of Pike approaching through the space in the crowd. The rouge lord placed a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder when he broke through the crowd and smiled. “Good work, Bellamy,” he praised. 

Bellamy beamed, though he was visibly sheepish about his praise. An instant later, his face hardened again. “I’m only doing what needs to be done.” He turned from Pike to Clarke and Octavia, pressed his weight and force harder into the staff that pinned the Lexa to the wall, and twisted his body so Pike could pass through the door without letting loose the grip on the slowly suffocating Queen. 

Clarke pressed her lips into a thin line and shuffled further behind Octavia’s outstretched arm as Pike’s shadow loomed over them. 

“Asshole,” Octavia spat. 

Pike rolled his eyes and looked to Bellamy. “Are you sure about her?” 

Bellamy nodded. “One hundred percent.” 

Pike sighed. “If you insist. But she’s yours to contain.” 

Bellamy nodded again. “My sister. My responsibility.” 

“Contain?” Octavia repeated with offense. “What the fuck are you going to do to me?” 

“I’m trying to protect you,” Bellamy said. 

The two obsidian-welding Hazekillers inside the room walked over to Lexa and pointed their blades against her neck. Clarke watched as the tips of the swords pricked her skin below the staff, a trickle of blood running down her throat. “Target secure,” the flat-nosed mercenary said with a satisfied grin. 

“Good,” Pike said, turning to Clarke. “Now then. Let’s try that talk of ours again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter feels incomplete and weird. but i split it from a much longer chapter. The second half of this was tons of fun to write and hopefully you all stick through this chapter to get to that!


	7. Chapter 7

Lexa gagged, clawing at the cane pressing ever tighter against her larynx. 

She was dizzy and weak, useless without any Pewter to dull her pain and strengthen her body. But she had been so angry, so focused on finding Clarke, and so confident in her abilities that she failed them all. The vial of metals she so desperately depended on slipped from her fingers at the worst time, and now it was in Clarke’s hands with an army of mercenaries and a Pewter burning Thug between them. 

She felt for the reserve of metals within her, for anything she could burn. Just the smallest amount of strength to fight back against the pressure on her neck, the pain in her ribs, the gashes in her stomach and her side. Anything to get her free. But her reserves, the ones she needed at least, were empty. She had burned through her pewter, nearly all of her steel and iron in her tag team work with Octavia, and her tin felt dangerously small too. She still had copper for smoking, bronze for detecting, brass and zinc for emotional control, but none of those could get her out of this situation. 

She needed more metal. She needed the vial Clarke kept clasped in her hand. She needed… she needed air. 

Lexa choked again, feeling light headed and weak, her strength draining from her body and leaving her limp and helpless as Octavia and Clarke stand before Pike without her protection. Her fingers wrapped around the wooden cane at her throat, but she couldn’t push it away, not when Bellamy had the brute force of pewter surging through him and two blades were twisting holes into her neck. 

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s discuss the hierarchy of power. Shall we?” Pike glared at Lexa. “Now while I agree that the Lord Ruler did a lot of things wrong, and while I'm willing to work with the idea that Skaa are free people who deserve better working conditions, they do not hold any power over me. Nobles call the shots. Not the Skaa, not thieves, and not a half-blood Allomancer who shouldn’t even exist.” 

“Piss off,” Octavia spat. 

“We will not bow before a Skaa Queen,” Pike said, his voice booming. “Murdering a dictator doesn’t give you the right to take his place. You know nothing about politics. You haven’t the faintest clue of how this economy works and you’ve made it clear during your rebellion that you intended to kill off Nobleman entirely and leave the world to burn under Skaa rule. Skaa are mentally slow and physically weak. They have neither the education or the capacity for the education required to not just run, but create an entirely new government. The only thing you’re good for is breeding more of you for the workforce. And here you are – using your noble heritage to your advantage and claiming it’s the power of Skaa. It’s pathetic. All you’ve done is brainwash and manipulate.” 

Pike clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward and back again on the balls of his feet. He turned bit, looked at her and Bellamy behind him and then twisted his gaze back to Clarke. “Which is why, Skaa Queen, you have to die. So, I'll make this very easy for you, Clarke,” he said. “Surrender now and I won’t force you to watch me kill this Skaa rebel you’ve come to fancy. And once you come to your senses, I’ll see you returned to you mother unharmed. Don’t surrender, and I’ll make her death more grueling to bear witness to than your father’s.” 

He snapped his fingers and suddenly Lexa was screaming; a tearing, pulsing pain radiating from the stab wound in her stomach where something was digging and twisting into her with a ripping pressure. A Hazekiller with a flat nose and a crooked, sinister grin laughed happily to her pain, and it wasn’t until her vision was spotted white and her lungs tearing from the lack of air that the pain finally subsided. The Hazekiller wiped her blood off his fingers and onto her face, tapped her cheek with his palm and then grabbed her face and yanked her gaze onto Clarke and Octavia. 

Clarke’s jaw was tense and tight and her blue eyes were hard and cold, colder than she’s ever seen them before. She was glaring at Pike with venom on her lips and her teeth bared and Octavia in front of her looked no less terrifying. Where Clarke looked poisonous, Octavia looked murderous. She had her hand hovering over Lexa’s coin purse, her bruised and angry features burning holes into Bellamy’s chest, complete and utter disgust in her eyes over his actions. 

The thing was, the embarrassing part of it all… she knew Octavia and Clarke could fight their way out – bash through a window and jump away with Octavia’s steel pushing – and get to safety if it weren’t for the blades pressed into Lexa’s neck. She had fumbled in pain, let down her guard at the wrong moment, and wound up the captured party in the end. Still, she was the destroyer of an endless empire. She was the chosen queen of the new world. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be. 

Bellamy must have felt her writing because his wrist twisted and the cane against her neck squeezed tight around her airway again. “Stop struggling,” he told her. “Your wasting your breath.” 

Using what little power she could gather, Lexa’s spat in Bellamy’s face, her saliva landing just below his eye. “Dick,” she croaked as Octavia snickered from across the room and Bellamy wiped her spit from his face with his free hand. 

“You’re the one killing people tonight and _you’re_ calling _me_ a ‘dick’?” 

“You’re right, Bellamy,” Clarke said from behind Octavia. “Lexa’s a killer. You want to prove you’re better than that? Better than her?” 

“Then let her go,” Octavia finished. 

“How about a different plan,” Pike interrupted. “How about for every one of my men she’s killed tonight, we break a bone in her body?” 

“Don’t,” Clarke said quickly. 

Pike said, “Don’t what? Do to her what she’s wanted to do to us this whole time? What she did to Lord Collins in front of the entire city? She deserves this and far worse. Killing her is a mercy.” 

“She’s caused more harm than good, Clarke,” Bellamy said, agreeing with Pike. “Maybe after she’s gone you’ll be able to see that.” 

Lexa wiggled her chin down with the distractions, forced more air into her lungs and restricted the pressure against her throat. The white spots in her eyes began to clear and the dizzying lightheadedness lessened its hold on her mind. She could break out of this. She could. Even without pewter, she could find a way. She just needed more time. 

She used to navigate the world without Allomancy. She had done it before and she could do it again. Allomancy wasn’t her only skill. She was more than ingested metals stockpiled and burned from the pit of her stomach. She was more than steel shavings and iron powder. Before Costia she was just Lexa, just a Skaa thief with a chip on her shoulder. Before snapping, before Costia died before her eyes, she had nothing but her wits to save her. 

Pike frowned at Clarke and stroked his beard in hands. “So, you won’t surrender then. A shame. I really was hoping you’d see reason, Clarke. For your mother’s sake. Your friends’ too.” 

“You gonna kill them too?” Octavia hissed 

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Pike defended. “But sometimes, action has to be taken. The fish, as they say, rots from the head. If I have to cut off that head, then so be it.” 

Lexa swallowed thickly as she felt a new, gentle pulse of Allomancy drumming against her. With bronze, a metal she burned constantly, she could sense Allomantic pulses; what type of metal was being used and where it came from. It was extremely useful and had only one weakness: copper. Burning copper hid Allomantic pulses in the same way that bronze discovered them. But a misting with no Smoker to cloud them couldn’t hide their Allomancy from a Seeker or a Mistborn smart enough to utilize bronze. 

For Bellamy and his pewter, the beats were long and washed over her like a wave of drums from where he stood. But this new pulse was different. It felt like short beats pulling her towards the source. She recognized the pattern of the thumping, felt the beats pulling against her and determined the signature as Zinc, a Rioter’s metal. Pike’s metal. 

He was trying to make Clarke angry. He wanted her to give him a reason to kill her. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, this time pleading with her. “Pike’s giving you a good deal.” 

Clarke looked to Pike and then to Lexa, her teeth still clenched with frustration and still inching behind Octavia. “Octavia,” she said with a sing-song tone as she shuffled backward a few more inches. “Don’t take your eyes off those guys in the door.” 

“Not a problem,” Octavia said. 

“Listen to me,” he said, and Lexa wondered if Octavia was skilled enough to feel her emotions being pulled by Pike as her brother addressed them. She wondered if Clarke could feel the subtleties of emotional Allomantic interference at all. “This is your only opportunity to do what’s right. I know you, Clarke.” 

“Shut up. You know nothing about me,” Clarke spat, her anger visibly beginning to swell under Pike’s influence. 

“I do, Clarke. I do know you,” he said. “I know you’re giving and kind and want to do what’s right more than any of us. You love books and sour, red wines. You’re brave, calculating, and even without any Allomancy, you’re so damn smart that you’re a threat to anyone who crosses you. Lexa’s just gotten in your head. She’s changed you.” 

Lexa watched as Clarke bit down on her cheeks and looked down. “You’re right, Bellamy,” Clarke said after several long moments, her voice calmer and more rational than it had been moments ago. “Lexa has changed me. In more ways than one.” 

She popped the cork of Lexa’s metals vial with her thumb and before anyone could stop her, she drained the contents in a single gulp. 

Bellamy’s face contorted with confusion. “What good will that do you,” he asked. “You said that you couldn’t… you told me years ago that you had no Allomancy.” 

“She’s bluffing,” Pike said. “Everyone knows Jacob Griffin was too weak to force an awakening on his only daughter.” 

Clarke threw the empty glass onto the ground and it shattered into pieces that went flying across the room with the impact. “That was before I watched the Lord Ruler _cut off_ my dad’s head in front of the whole city.” 

The two guards pulled their obsidian swords away from Lexa’s neck and turned to address Clarke’s threats. Their swords hovering uncertainly towards Octavia and Clarke as if trying to decide if Clarke was actually bluffing or not. 

Bellamy laughed with disbelief. “That was months ago. If you actually had any Allomancy there would have been rumors and I would have heard about them. Someone would have—” 

Lexa’s Tin powered eyes barely managed to catch it, but she watched as Clarke charged Bellamy with a powerful flare of pewter drawn strength and speed. She slammed into him, her shoulder hitting him so hard that he doubled over with the wind knocked out of him and stumbled back towards the door. His cane loosened around her neck as he staggered back from the change, and Lexa shoved the cane away, sucking in a breath of air when her throat was released from its gripping hold. 

Clarke straightened her posture, looked at Bellamy with wide, disbelieving eyes and then turned to Lexa with the widest, brightest smile she’s ever seen. “Lexa,” she said, grabbing Lexa’s arm with stabilizing security. “Are you okay?” 

She touched her throat gingerly, felt the tender skin and the tightness forming below it. “I’m fine,” she croaked. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Clarke said, still smiling. 

They turned their attention to Pike who was cursing loudly in a fit of rage. “This isn’t over,” he told them, pointing a finger at Lexa with rage fueled eyes and barred teeth. “Not even close.” He turned towards the door and shouldered through the crowd of mercenaries under his payroll, disappearing into a sea of leather-clad soldiers before any of them had a chance to stop him. 

Lexa ‘s postured straightened, her spine popping as she rolled her shoulders back and felt the ground stabilize beneath her feet. She raised her fists into a defensive stance and turned to the two Hazekillers they didn’t have a chance to take care of earlier. She might not have pewter at her disposal anymore, but Clarke did, and she had a lot of it. 

Octavia flung a string of coins into the door, weaponizing their Boxings and knocking back approaching mercenaries, keeping the crowds at bay. “Better come up with a plan quick,” she yelled. “I can’t hold them off forever.” 

Lexa looked around the room, let her eyes and ears become her strongest weapon. She listened to the creak of the floor beneath her feet, the press of boots into the hardwood, the slowly recovering cough from Bellamy in the doorway, Clarke’s excited, short breaths and her heartbeat – fast and hard and loaded with adrenaline – pounding in her chest. She felt the pulse of Pewter rolling over her like a wave from Clarke, and she felt the shorter, more staggered pulse of Octavia’s steel fueled Allomancy too. She felt for her reserves again, determined how much of each metal in her body she still had left to burn away in this fight, and devised a plan. 

“Here,” Lexa yelled with a hoarse gravel, throwing out her arm towards Octavia. 

Octavia flung a handful of coins and pushed, Lexa reaching out and pulling on the same coins to increase their force. The coins shot across the room from Octavia to Lexa, and tore through the torso of one of the Hazekillers who stood between them. Before his body began to slump, the moment she saw the coins ripping through his flesh, Lexa pushed on the coins and sent them back to tear through him again, just to make sure. 

By now, Bellamy had fumbled back onto his feet, and he sucked in a breath that puffed his chest as the took a threatening step towards them. Lexa felt his Pewter flare, but she wasn’t fast enough anymore to dodge what was coming. 

His body hit hers, his arms wrapping around her and yanking the ground out from under her feet as he ran them both across the room and into the stone wall of the Keep. Her back hit the wall and she cried out in pain as the force of the impact reverberated up down her spine. She looked up at Bellamy, his fist drawing back to this chest in what was sure to be a powerhouse punch and she braced herself for the impact she couldn’t prevent. 

Clarke’s hands wrapped around Bellamy’s closed fist, and she pulled on him so hard that it freed Lexa from his hold for a second time. Her whole body was surging with an unbridled, massive swell of pure pewter power, the thumping of her Allomancy hitting Lexa harder and harder as she miraculously overpowered the trained Thug and dragged him away. 

Lexa scrambled across the floor and snatched up a dueling cane. “Clarke, move,” she commanded, and Clarke let go of Bellamy and jumped back as Lexa swung the cane like a bat with all the strength her weakened state could muster into Bellamy’s exposed side. 

Bellamy staggered again, and Lexa’s ears picked up the scuff of boots just in time for her to whirl around and slap the dueling cane into sharpened obsidian. Her glare locked with the Hazekiller in the instant of the collision, and she growled with anger at his crooked, sinister smile. 

“No more pewter?” He asked with a taunting tone. “Shame.” 

Lexa readied herself again. “I don’t need pewter.” 

With the last of her Tin, Lexa absorbed every detail of the Hazekiller’s movements, determined to read them like a book and match every blow. His wrist flexed; she parried a slash. He twitched, and she met his strike with a block. They sidestepped, circling around one another with slow, calculated steps. His next strike was a lung, his black blade cutting through the air. Lexa dodged, jumping to the side just in time, her body slow and sluggish without pewter and struggling to keep up from the injuries she’d sustained, but still in the fight thanks to her Tin. 

Seeing her opening, Lexa twisted the cane into a downward arc that collided with the Hazekiller’s forearm, shattering the bone with a disgusting crunch that made the sword fall from his limp fingers. He screamed with pain and Lexa stepped into a kick that hit him in the chest and knocked him back onto his ass. He tried to catch himself, but broken forearm crumbled under the pressure and he screamed again, too distracted with the pain to watch as Lexa stepped over him with a cruel calmness about her, and swung the cane into his skull. 

She turned her attention back to Bellamy as the Hazekiller’s body fell limp to the ground, He was locked into a staring contest with Clarke, his body hunched and his fingers stretched out like claws ready to strike. He was hesitating to fight her, and Clarke was taking every advantage she could get her hands on. Whatever it was that existed between them, whatever memories and bonds they once shared – they were gone now. Lexa could see in Clarke’s eyes the way she burned this image of Bellamy into her mind, the way she planned to remember this – his betrayal of her trust – forever. 

More mercenaries began to trickle into the room, Octavia’s supply of coins dwindling thin. “Could really use that plan now,” she said, hurling a coin through a Merc’s throat in the doorway. 

Clarke’s attention swayed from Bellamy to one of the mercenaries that made it through Octavia’s defense. She grabbed his arm as he filtered into the room and with a sharp turn, flung him over her shoulder and slammed his back into the floor with a force that shook the room. “Lexa,” She called, letting go of the mercenary and bringing her eyes back to Bellamy and resuming their standoff. “A little help?” 

Lexa turned to the window and then looked at the new mercenaries come to fight her. She stepped backward, leaned down and scooped up a coin that had scatted across the room in the fight, keeping her eyes on the leather-clad mercenaries that stalked her like predators. “Window,” she said. “Octavia!” 

“Right!” 

Lexa grabbed Clarke by arm and pulled her away from her staring match with Bellamy. “Time to go,” she told her. She dragged Clarke to the window while Octavia flung a few more coins into the fray. 

“Lexa,” Clarke said, her voice rushed and nervous. “I don’t know if I can—” 

“Just hang on to me,” Lexa told her quickly. 

She wrapped her arms around Clarke and pulled her close. She turned back to Octavia, watching as she flung the last of her metals at Bellamy and the mercenaries. 

“Go,” Octavia yelled, turning on her heels and sprinting to the window. 

Lexa nodded, squeezed her arms around Clarke, and threw them into the glass. 

* * *

The feeling of falling with nothing but the stones of the street to catch you, Clarke decided in that very moment, was the absolute worst feeling in the world. 

She gripped Lexa so tight, so beyond anything she thought her body was capable of, she thought she might break her own fingers under the pressure. The wind whipped and lashed at her face, and her heart jumped into her throat as she fell through the mists. She couldn’t see the ground, could see the sky. She couldn’t even see the window they had fallen out of anymore. All she had was the knowledge of the imminence of the ground below and Lexa’s hold, keeping her close. 

There was a slight push, Lexa’s body shifting from down to up as she wrapped her arms tighter around Clarke, and their fall slowed. They landed, almost softly on the ground below, and although she couldn’t see her, she heard Octavia land with the same grace as Lexa. 

“Time to run,” Lexa said as she let all but her fingers go. 

With Lexa’s hand clasping hers, she was guided blindly through the mists. Her legs carried her with an incredible lightness. She could hear her feet thumping into the cobblestone, but she couldn’t feel the pressure of her weight striking the ground. She ran with Lexa, finding she had no trouble at all keeping up. In fact, Lexa’s pace felt slow and sluggish compared to what Clarke’s legs felt they could carry. She thought maybe it was the metals giving disproportional strength to her body, but the more she squinted through the mists, the more they began to clear and after a while, she saw that Octavia was several paces ahead. 

But Lexa didn’t stop moving. Her steps were staggered and she was leaning into the cane she had acquired to keep her balance. Her teeth were grit with pain and her free hand was pressed into her oozing wound, her fingers covered with a dark, sticky red that became clearer and more detailed with each heartbeat that passed, but still, she kept moving. They ran to the wall, Lexa finally stopping when they did. She puffing now and leaned one shoulder into the stone battlement walls. 

“Tell me you have more coins, Octavia,” she breathed, looking up into the misty sky. 

“Just one,” she said, flicking the coin on the ground. “Tell me you got Iron left.” 

Lexa paused for a moment, then nodded. “Enough,” she said. 

“Here,” Lexa said, pulling Clarke forward and then pushing her towards Octavia. “Take Clarke first.” 

Octavia nodded and stretched out a hand to her, but Clarke hesitated to let Lexa go. “What about you?” she asked, turning around to look at Lexa. 

“I'm coming too,” she said. “Right behind you.” 

“Lexa has to pull the coin up so we can get back down,” Octavia said. “So, come on. We have to hurry.” 

Octavia stood over the coin and wrapped her arms around Clarke’s waist and she realized immediately how different Octavia’s hold around her felt compared to Lexa. She felt physically secure enough, sure. But the hold was awkward and formal, and the warm feeling of safety that radiated from Lexa was void from Octavia. She didn’t prepare Clarke at all for the jump, and instead she silently, suddenly, pushed on the coin beneath them and they both went soaring up to the top of the battlement. 

Once at the top, Octavia let her go and Clarke looked over the edge to watch as Lexa leaped up after them. She landed softly, softer than she Octavia did and Lexa pressed a hand into Clarke’s shoulder with firm squeeze once they were all safely atop the wall. Clarke smiled from the touch and watched as Lexa pulled on the coin abandoned on the ground. It flew up into the air and she caught it casually between her fingers. “Let’s go,” she said, flipping the coin over the other side, and Octavia walked right off the edge with her words. 

Clarke squinted in the mists and stepped to the edge of the battlement wall that looked over Pike’s property. She could see the mercenaries sprinting down the yard, attempting to catch up to them and prevent their escape. “They’re coming fast,” Clarke said, counting the Hazekillers. “Really fast.” 

She turned back to Lexa and found that the woman was staring at her, her brow creased and her eyes hard. “Yeah,” she said after a few moments of silent staring. “They are.” 

“Will they follow us past the wall?” 

Lexa shook her head. “Doubt it. Once we’re on the other side we should be fine.” 

“That’s a relief,” Clarke said and she turned around again to look out into the city. Octavia was on the ground now, waiting impatiently for Clarke and Lexa to join her on the other side and beyond that, Clarke could see the river in the distance. Once they crossed it, they’d be back in the slums with the rest of the Skaa. “Never thought I’d be running _to_ the slums but... first time for everything.” 

Lexa still looked at her strangely, her head tilted to one side as she stared into her. “We should keep moving,” she said at last, offering Clarke her hand again. 

She felt the Queen wrap her arms around her hips and Clarke immediately found herself feeling safe again in her arms. Her clothes were stained now with Lexa’s blood and she felt the warm, wet press of the soaked fabrics against her skin as Lexa walked them off the edge, pushed on the coin at the last moment, and landed them softly on the ground below. It was the softest landing yet, but Lexa still hissed, sucking in a pained breath that roared in Clarke’s ears as their feet touched the ground. 

“Wait,” Clarke said when Lexa tried to march the forward towards the shop. 

Lexa and Octavia stopped in their tracks and twisted around to look at Clarke, both equally confused by her sudden refusal to keep moving. 

“What?” Octavia asked. 

“Lexa’s hurt,” Clarke pointed. 

“I’m fine,” Lexa argued. “Let’s keep moving.” 

“You’re not,” Clarke said, pointing to the cane she was using to keep herself together. “Maybe with more metal. Maybe with pewter you would be, but you burned through all of that, Lexa.” 

Lexa scowled as if she were being accused of some sort of crime. “We keep moving,” she decided, turning away from Clarke pushing on with the trek through the city. 

Octavia shrugged at Clarke and turned to follow Lexa through the city and Clarke, with the mists suddenly dense and thick again, rushed to stay at Lexa’s side. 

They walked for a while in silence. Lexa setting the pace and pointing them in the right direction, Octavia taking up the rear, and Clarke holding Lexa’s hand as she guided her through the dense mists. 

Looking at Luthadel during the day, the city was blackened and scorched by soot and red sunlight. It was ugly, very ugly, but Clarke knew the streets well and there was a comfort to that, the feeling of familiarity. But in the night things were different. Without fail, the mists always came to blur and obscure. High Noble keeps became looming, ghost-like silhouettes and streets grew narrow, harrowing, and dangerous. Luthadel at night was a misty void, a haunted creature moaning in the dark. 

Skaa never ventured out into the night; they feared too much and risked too little, but that didn’t mean the city was a playground for nobles either. Even nobles had apprehensions and hesitations about going out into the misty silence, for it was a place only for the foolhardy and desperate; a land of swirling mystery and strange creatures. There was no comfort or familiarity in the dark. 

Clarke squeezed her fingers around Lexa’s and quickened her pace, suddenly feeling a cold chill like fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck. Lexa turned and looked at her with an expression of concern but seeing her in the mists (which were weirdly fading again around her), Clarke could tell that person needing concern was her. 

“Lexa,” she pleaded, slowing to a stop again and refusing to budge. “We need to stop. You have to let me bandage your wounds.” 

Leaning into the dueling cane, Lexa turned to look at Clarke as Octavia finally caught up. 

“I think she’s right,” Octavia said, getting a good look at Lexa. “You look like shit and we can’t afford to lose you. I can go on ahead, get some pewter and meet you back here.” 

Lexa’s gaze rolled from Clarke to Octavia. She stared at her for a moment, her expression twisted into a stern scowl. But when Octavia and Clarke stared back at her with the same expression, she folded. “Fine,” she said with a grumpy dissonance. “Go.” 

Octavia gave her a curt nod, smiled at Clarke and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” before breaking away from the group and running into the mists. 

With Octavia gone ahead and Lexa finally conceding to Clarke’s concerns, Clarke grabbed the hem of her clothes and ripped it apart into long strips. They weren’t exactly sterile or clean, but it was all she had and getting pressure on those cuts, especially the stab wound in her torso, was too important to hold off on any longer. 

Lexa however, seemed to have something else in mind. Instead of relaxing and allowing Clarke to tend to her wounds, she leaned her weight into the dueling cane and peered at Clarke with a rejuvenated sense of energy. “Tell me something, Clarke,” she said, studying her. “How long have you known that you're Mistborn?” 

Clarke blinked, so shocked by the question that the cloth strips nearly fell from her grasp. “Mistborn?” She repeated back curiously. “I - I’m not...” 

“You’re burning Tin and Pewter, Clarke. Did you drink that vial without knowing what it would do?” Lexa asked, her voice as stern as it was quizzical. “What if it hadn’t done anything?” 

She hesitated, tangled her bottom lip between her teeth, and nodded like a child being scolded. “I took a chance,” she said, feeling strange timid and exposed by Lexa’s pressing questions and fiery scowl. 

Lexa studied her again, her expression stern and harsh. “You took a chance,” she repeated back, clicking her tongue in pondering. 

Clarke wasn’t sure what else to do, so she gave Lexa a hesitant nod and said, “Yeah. I did.” 

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “What you did was incredibly stupid and dangerous, Clarke. The risks don’t even begin to outweigh the reward. You could have gotten sick, or worse, you could have died.” 

Clarke bit down on her cheeks, her gaze falling to her feet. 

“That being said,” Lexa told her, her voice gaining a hint of the softness she had come to learn was uniquely Lexa. “You saved my life back there, and I owe you my thanks for what you did.” 

Clarke smiled widely and raised her eyes to look at Lexa again. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “You saved me back there too.” 

The crack of a smile pulled at the corner of Lexa’s lips and she said with her signature softness that Clarke was coming to appreciate more and more by the day, “We are even then. Still, don’t take a risk like that again. Ingesting incorrect alloy percentages could cause permanent damage to your body, and—” 

“Lexa, you can keep scolding me all you want,” Clarke said. “But you’re going to sit down and let me look at your injuries while you do it.” 

Lexa stepped backward toward the siding of a building and pressed her shoulder into the brick before letting herself slide down onto the ground. She unfastened her mistcloak, let the heavy, slick fabric fall off her shoulders and reveal to Clarke the extent of her bleeding. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said despite the fact that she had one hand pressed into herself to quell the pain Clarke could only assume was radiating from her body. 

With nimble fingers and a dexterity of which she’s never possessed before, Clarke undid the buttons of Lexa’s shirt. Gently, her fingers curled under the hems of the fabric and peeled them away to reveal two problematic gashes oozing with blood and a swollen chest that indicated broken ribs. 

“See,” Lexa said with a smile. “It’s nothing.” 

“Sure, it’s not,” Clarke told her, smiling back. 

She took a deep breath, focused on Lexa’s cuts before her, and the mists began to clear around her again, her eyes picking up details finer than anything she’d ever seen under the aid of the red sun. Clarke remembered then what it was Lexa had said to her about burning Tin... about her being a Mistborn. 

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Mistborns were so rare, so aggressively rare that they almost didn’t exist at all. Just being a misting was a noteworthy achievement in and of itself. She was lucky to have one metal. She was extremely lucky that it was a metal as useful as pewter. But to have all the metals under her control? There was simply no way. 

Clarke pulled Lexa’s hand away from the swollen stab wound in her stomach and replaced it with pressure from the cloth strip of clothing and her own hands. Lexa hissed with pain from the force and Clarke pursed her lips with worry over the way she fought through the searing pain Clarke herself could only imagine she was feeling. 

“Tell me,” Lexa croaked out in a voice that felt desperate for distractions. “How many metal reserves can you feel?” 

Clarke paused and bit down on her cheeks. If she focused, she could make out several distinct sources of power within her – sources of which she had never noticed or felt before now. Some of them, two, to be precise, were shrinking; and one – the smallest one of them all – rather quickly. “Eight,” she said, counting the sources within. 

“And how do you feel?” 

Again, Clarke paused. Until now she had never thought about how her body might feel different. She had been so consumed with escape and later with Lexa’s condition that the thought never even occurred to her. But with concentration and a newfound interest in understanding her current state, she realized that there was flare of heat coming from within her chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable or hot, but it was obvious and unique. How she had gone this long without noticing it, Clarke realized then, was quite embarrassing. 

Along with that warmth came something else. She was felt rejuvenated, powerful. Somehow more solid and alert, a feeling of strength that was not only in her muscles but every part of her body. She felt stronger in her bones, her flesh, her skin. But then she realized there was even more. She could feel each droplet of the mist against her skin, the tingle of water as it budded on her pores. She could feel, suddenly acutely, how tightly her clothes fit her in certain places and where it wrinkled and bunched with the way she was crouched over Lexa. 

There was a wealth of new sensations both internal and external, suddenly overwhelming her. She could hear creaks and scuffles in the darkness, could see a new sort of brightness in the mists, their thick curling waves suddenly more translucent and clearer, and the street lanterns and lights from within buildings were brighter and cast further from their sources. 

“Strong,” Clarke said, flexing her fingers and feeling the new strength within her. “And... clear.” 

“Pewter and Tin,” Lexa said. “They’re paired metals. Pewter for the enhancement of your physical body, and Tin for your senses.” 

Clarke nodded and tried to focus on cleaning Lexa’s wounds again. “Mistborn,” she whispered to herself. Her father would never believe it. Though, if he had his way, she never would have had snapped in the first place. To him, the powers of Allomancy were never worth the physical and mental turmoil required to awaken it. 

“You’re lucky you only burned pewter back there,” Lexa told her, hissing as Clarke pressed a little harder into her cut. “Nobles love rumors and gossip. If things manage to swing in our favor, everyone will just assume you’re a thug.” 

“A traitorous thug,” Clarke said. “Pike’s going to find a way to spin this in his favor. You know that, right?” 

“I do,” Lexa told her. “But we won’t know how to deal with the fallout of this mistake until he does. But as stupid as talking to Pike was, it wasn’t a complete waste. We discovered your power today.” 

“A power I have no idea how to use” Clarke admitted. 

Lexa smiled weakly and tried to laugh, the action causing her to groan with pain. "It’s only a matter of time before you make your power your own,” she said. “After I snapped, I couldn’t imagine ever living my life without Allomancy again.” 

“When did you?” Clarke asked. “Snap, I mean.” 

Lexa looked up into the sky and sighed weakly. “Three years ago. I was a prisoner in the Pits of Hathsin.” The Pits of Hathsin were a deadly Skaa labor camp outside of Luthadel. Clarke didn’t personally know much about it, just that criminal Skaa, and on rarer occasions, criminal nobles were often sent there for their crimes to work until they died. It was known for being inescapable. Or it was until rumors of a Lexa’s return to Luthadel as ‘the survivor’ began to flutter through the gossip chains last year. 

“You used Allomancy to escape,” Clarke realized, looking at the raking scars that clawed down Lexa’s arms. 

Lexa nodded. “They killed Costia. Right in front of me. I couldn’t let them get away with that.” 

“Costia?” Clarke had never heard Lexa speak that name before, nor had she ever seen the hurt that lingered in her eyes at the mention of her name. 

Lexa swallowed thickly. “She was a Seeker,” Lexa said. “And someone very special to me.” 

For some reason, hearing Lexa say those words made something twist in her stomach. She pressed her lips into a hard line and made herself nod to affirm Lexa’s words, but instead of adding to the conversation she pushed her attention onto the wound she was attempting to clot. What was she supposed to add anyway? An apology? Her condolences? Nothing at all? 

Lexa had never mentioned any of this before, not that she needed to, but its sudden reveal felt like an explosion in her chest and Clarke couldn’t stand it. She twisted awkwardly, pressed a little harder into Lexa’s injury, felt the wet of blood soaking through the cloth and onto her palms. She focused on it, her brow wrinkling at the intensity because she couldn’t allow herself to let her mind wander over Costia or the Pits of Hathsin. 

Bloodied fingers reached up and grazed Clarke’s cheek. She lifted her eyes, met Lexa’s green ones with her own, and found herself smiling again. 

Even in this condition, Lexa had a way about her, this momentous, warming aura of confidence and pride that washed over everything around her like a wave. She smiled at Clarke, her barely trembling fingers pressing into the apple of her cheek and controlling every aspect of Clarke right down to her breath. Her fingers slipped down her cheek and brushed over her jaw; calloused, sticky fingers making Clarke’s skin prickle and tingle at the ghost of her touch. 

“I won't let what happened to her happen to you,” Lexa said. 

Clarke gave a breathy laugh and said, “You’re the one bleeding out. Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” 

Lexa shook her head. “I made a promise,” she said. 

“Yeah,” she said. “To my mother, but I can take care of myself.” 

“No,” Lexa told her. “I made a promise to myself.” 

Clarke swallowed stones and asked, “To yourself?” 

She nodded once, her chin dipping down with subtle grace despite the state she was in. “So long as I live, Clarke, I will see to it that you never suffer.” 

She wasn’t sure what to think of that. On one hand, Clarke understood what Lexa felt. Watching her father die made her snap much in the same vein that Lexa seeing this Costia person die made her own powers awaken. She knew then, via the death of someone so important, the pain someone feels when it came to loss. As a Mistborn, an elite and rare force of nature, it made sense for Lexa to want to keep everyone in her life as safe as possible with her powers. It made sense for Lexa to hold herself responsible for so many things. With pewter surging through her, Clarke could understand that now. 

On the other hand, there was a part of Clarke finding herself convinced these words were more personal than that. A piece of herself Lexa was offering that Clarke never knew she wanted until now. A part of her aching for more; craving something that she wasn’t even sure was there at all. Lexa had lost a significant amount of blood in all the fighting and it was increasingly plausible that she was growing delirious with pain. Which put Clarke in a particularly uncomfortable position of trying to dissect the meaning between Lexa’s words and her touch. 

Clarke leaned into Lexa’s fingers, felt the rough texture of her callouses as they glided back across her cheeks. Her gaze caught Lexa, green eyes peering into hers from beyond the stains of ash and blood, glowing like a light in the dark. She could see every detail on Lexa’s face; the way the blood dipped into her pores and the way her eyelashes were so long that they tangled in the corners of her eyes. She could see the chapped skin on her lips, each and every stray hair on her head that stuck to the blood on her skin. She could see the color draining from her, a paleness spreading up her neck and flushing her cheeks. She was pained, covered with scar tissue, and weak but, even with all of that Clarke couldn’t help but realize how beautiful Lexa really was. With tin enhancing her eyes, Clarke could see Lexa on a level she never thought possible and she wondered, what did Clarke look like to Lexa through her own tin enhanced sight? Was she as beautiful as Lexa was? Was she even half of that? 

Did Lexa even care enough to notice? 

She shook her head. None of that mattered. What mattered was keeping Lexa as comfortable as possible until Octavia could get back to them. But, where was Octavia? What was taking her so long? Clarke didn’t want to dwell on it. She didn’t want to think about the very real fact that even a Coinshot like Octavia was in a danger when traversing the mists. The very thought of sending someone out into the ghostly depths of Luthadel at night made her shiver Lexa must have noticed the way her fingers trembled because she was looking at her again with an expression of concern that had no place on the face of someone in such visible pain. 

“Octavia will come,” Lexa told her. “Don’t worry.” 

“I can’t help it,” Clarke told her. “This isn’t exactly how I thought the night was going to go.” 

“You thought confronting Pike would have a different outcome?” 

Clarke shook her head, feeling suddenly guilty. “I thought that I could help somehow.” 

Lexa coughed weakly when she tried to laugh at Clarke’s words. “I would tell you to leave the mists to the Mistborn but...” She trailed off and Clarke couldn’t help but smile when Lexa looked at her; this deep, knowing look that penetrated through the mists and into her very core. 

“Guess I got my way after all,” Clarke said, finishing Lexa’s thought. 

“I guess you did.” 


	8. Chapter 8

“You should arrest him for false imprisonment,”  Indra said the next morning from her seat at Lexa’s war table.

“He should be executed for attempted murder,” Anya said, matter of fact.

Aden added, “You should at least do something. Doesn’t doing nothing put you in a worse position than doing  _ something _ ?”

Lexa raised a hand and silenced the table. “Pike is a problem, yes. But we have to be careful as to how we address this problem. He isn’t the only Noble looking for a reason to kill me.”

“You mean Wallace?” Anya asked.

“I mean everyone,” Lexa said, thinking back to Clarke’s warning when she first arrived to the shop. “With House Blake and House Green allying themselves with Pike, and with Wallace and Emmerson plotting something of their own, we know that at least half the high houses are against us. Probably more if we’re being completely honest. Even separated, Pike and Wallace each command large enough armies to wipe us out. We need to figure out how to lessen their power without losing any of ours in the process.”

“So what? You’re going to do nothing until you figure that out?” Anya asked. 

Lexa shook her head. “Titus is announcing Pike has officially been stripped of his status as an ambassador at the public forum later today and Lady Griffin has been instructed to relay information of Pike’s betrayal to their allied houses.”

“That’s it?” 

Again, Lexa shook her head. “Pike is being declared an enemy of the city. If he so much as steps outside of his keep he’ll be risking his head. And if anyone tries to come to his aid, they’ll be listed as enemies too.” She looked at Anya and smiled. “You’re allowed to kill anyone who tries to aid him.”

“But not Pike?” Anya was visibly seething, her fists bunched into white-knuckled, trembling fists.

Octavia added quickly, “And what about my brother?”

Lexa’s eyes darted from Anya to Octavia and she let out a long breath that made her sides ache with pain. “We will deal with Pike, and Bellamy, as the situation calls. For now, their capture and public trial is my top priority. However, should you find yourself in a position where your life is at risk, execution is permissible on the count of Pike. Bellamy, however...” she paused, thinking about the ties both Octavia and Clarke held with the man known as Bellamy Blake. “He is to be captured alive, no exceptions.”

* * *

Clarke hadn’t burned metals since their escape from Pike’s Keep and she was beginning to feel as if the whole thing was some sort of fever dream that didn’t actually happen at all. In fact, she’d have convinced herself days ago that it was without a doubt some sort of dream if it weren’t for the fact that every single member of Lexa’s crew now looked at her as if she had murdered a child for sport. It also probably didn’t help that Clarke had brought Raven into the shop, but she wasn’t about to leave her friend and only ally out of the loop when she so passionately allied herself to Clarke’s house and – by extension – the queen.

Raven had every right to get to know the people she had chosen to support, and Clarke was desperate for some sort of interaction with someone who didn’t hold her responsible for Lexa’s current state or feel personally attacked over a ‘kept secret’ of Clarke’s powers that she didn’t even know she had in the first place. So, she invited Raven over for dinner with the crew, hoping that Octavia and Lincoln would be enough to convince Raven that her decision to support  Skaa rights and freedom would be enough.

Octavia had made something that resembled a relationship with Raven in a similar vein to the relationship she had built with Clarke during her time as a  Skaa spy, and Lincoln was the kindest and most gentle man Clarke had ever met. If they couldn’t prove to Raven that her alliance to house Griffin was the right call, she wasn’t entirely sure that Lexa could.

Lexa was still recovering from her rescue efforts, but that didn’t stop her from pushing forward with her work and filling her schedule. But like Octavia and Lincoln, she had made the time for Clarke’s friend and joined them at the table for a meal of roasted meats and mashed vegetables. It was the finest meal Clarke had experienced in the shop, but Lexa insisted that as Clarke’s guest, Raven be treated to at least  _ something _ that resembled what she was accustomed to among nobles. Show some class, and all that.

Clarke sat at the table next Raven and directly across from Octavia who sat next to Lincoln. Lexa was situated at the end of the table, her fingers laced together atop the table, watching with emerald eyes as sharp as steel as Raven picked at her food and attempted small talk with Clarke and Octavia. 

Clarke could tell that Lexa was uncomfortable. Between the broken ribs, the infected cuts only just beginning to heal, and the strange customs of nobles she was so unfamiliar with, Clarke couldn’t blame her. But Lexa wasn’t the only one facing discomfort at the table. Everyone seemed stressed and awkward, herself included.

“So, this is where you live now?” Raven asked, trying her best to fill the strange, heavy silence with anything and everything that comes to mind. Raven has always been that way. She was mouthy and sharp and full of wit and wonder and if anyone had something to say, it was Raven. Given the thickness of the air and the awkward hesitation that flooded the room, Clarke was glad that Raven had the gift of words to counter it.

“For now,” Clarke told her. “I can return to the Keep whenever I like but, I think I'm more useful here.”

Raven looked to Lexa who nodded with an acute sense of understanding and stabbed at the butter drenched vegetables on her plate with her fork. “Clarke is not a prisoner,” she reminded. “She is our honored guest. As are you, while you are here.” This made Raven smile, and she looked to Clarke again.

Clarke’s expressions split into a smile of her own; slightly crooked and with a weak attempt of modesty. She had no way to explain with words the way Lexa had gone to such extreme lengths to make Clarke feel welcomed and included. She had no way to explain the way her chest tightened when the Queen’s green eyes looked soft and vulnerable, trusting and certain. The way Lexa had grown to lean on Clarke to guide her through interactions with the Nobles and how much the Queen had changed when it came to her perception and preconceived notions. She had no way to explain to Raven just how much things had changed; how her sitting here as a guest at all was a symbol of Lexa’s pursuit of a fair and equal relationship between Nobleman and  Skaa .

She wished there was a way to tell her exactly how things had been changing. She wished she could show Raven the world the way Lexa had shown Clarke. She wished there was a way to make Raven trust the Queen the way Clarke trusted her. She wished it was as simple as words. But Lexa was complicated and complex. She was sharp edged around a myriad of layers. She was a woman who could not be properly deciphered and translated from simple word of mouth account. She needed to be experienced to be understood. And Clarke wanted so badly to share the emotional impact of that experience with the woman she called her closest friend.

Raven’s alliance to her house was unfaltering. Her trust earned long ago when her father took Raven under his wing and hardened when Clarke’s mother continued that relationship through treatment of her leg. Her friendship with Clarke built and enforced with years of balls and parties, whispered secrets and curated rumors; battles fought on the noble battlefield as unwavering allies. Trust built in ways Clarke had never experienced with another person. If house Griffin made a claim, a statement, a move in the endless battle for dominance of the Noble families – House Reyes stood beside them.

Even with Lexa’s execution of the Lord of House Collins, a House so closely allied to House Reyes, she stood beside House Griffin in solidarity. And she did so having never even met the Queen. She supported without information. She supported without persuasion. And Clarke didn’t need to explain to Lexa that she had long ago earned a chance to meet her queen and forge an alliance of her own. 

Raven had never been inside a  Skaa house or shop before. Most nobles never needed to. She looked around the rooms with curious, wide eyes as they ate. Watching as members of Lexa’s crew crossed through halls and muttered things in passing just within range of earshot from someone without Tin to enhance their senses. “You don’t feel...” she hesitated for a moment and focused on chewing her food as she searched for the right words. “Claustrophobic?”

Clarke shook her head. “It was hard to get accustomed to but,” she looked to Lexa and smiled again. “I’ve been given ample privacy and personal space. More than I deserve.”

“Being treated like royalty by royalty,” Raven noted with a grin. 

“It’s not like that,” Clarke tried, but Raven waved a hand and dismissed her claims before she could even make them.

“I’d stay here too if I was getting the royal treatment.”

Octavia grumbled something under her breath and Lincoln squeezed her shoulder, his hand slipping down to rub small circles on her back. 

“You have something to add, Octavia?” Lexa asked, putting the woman on the spot and turning everyone’s gaze upon her.

“No, your Highness,” she said. “Nothing to add.”

Lexa’s chin dipped and then she turned her attention back to Raven and Clarke. “I must admit,” she began. “When Clarke said she wished to have you here for dinner, I saw an opportunity to advance my own agenda.”

“Advance your agenda... how?” Raven asked.

“I need more backing from the Noble families. As one of my only allied houses and not someone whose ideas are skewed by presence here among the  Skaa , your insight on how to do that might be crucial to achieving this.”

“Throw a party,” Raven said flatly.

Lexa’s brow wrinkled. “Throw a party?”

Raven nodded. “You want us on your side? Then do something Nobles do. Parties are a chance to trade secrets and gain information. You give them the opportunity to learn about you in a way that makes sense to them, and maybe you can convince some of them that you’re not trying to... you know... execute all of us.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Lincoln told them, looking across the room. “We learned a lot about the higher class when we sent Octavia in. Think about the impact of a joint celebration could have.”

“No,” Clarke told him. “No  Skaa . Nobles have to feel like it's just for them.”

“She’s right,” Octavia added. “If they’re not us, they shouldn’t be involved in this. It’s not fair to them.”

“Lady Reyes,” Lexa addressed. “Is your Keep in condition to be able to throw said event?”

Raven folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. She pressed her lips together, her eyes rolling to the ceiling for a moment before fluttering back down. “It won’t be easy,” she said at last. “Clarke, can I count on support from your house to get it done?”

Clarke nodded. “When it comes to you? My mom will do just about anything.”

* * *

Lexa never liked Noble attire. It was intricate stitch work on tight fabrics that lacked practicality and screamed in excess, but she supposed that she wouldn’t be much of a queen if her attire didn’t reflect her position so, she made the sacrifice. 

She stood before a mirror, pulling at the sleeves of  her dress-coat, wondering how the woman before  her  now could possibly be the same woman she once was a year or more ago. She didn’t have ash stains on her clothes or black paint on her eyes. Her clothes were tailored to fit and didn’t have holes. Her shoes shone every bit as much as the jewelry she wore around her neck and on her fingers. It was real jewelry too. Not the fake painted wood that she had worn when imitating nobles in the past. 

Titus said that wearing real metal was a statement of her power as much – if not more – than the statement of fashion that, as a  Skaa before the nobles, was already of the upmost importance. Lexa didn’t really like the idea of wearing metal on her body when Nobles were not only her enemy but enemies capable of  Allomancy , but she supposed that Titus was right. Wearing jewelry before the noble population was nothing if not a statement of confidence in her power.

And she really needed to make that statement.

Things hadn’t really gone as smoothly as she would have liked since her ascension. Of course, she didn’t expect this to be easy, no, she wasn’t that dumb. But she hadn’t expected to be on the verge of war so soon. Especially not with Charles Pike and Bellamy Blake. Cage Wallace? She could see that. She was prepared for that. But friends and allies of first family to pledge allegiance to her? It was more unexpected than she would like to admit.

Lexa had thought that an alliance with the third most powerful family would have helped smooth things over with the Nobles after the rebellion; shown them that she wasn’t intent on killing them like they may have believed her to be. All it really did was make things harder. She had the Griffin family and the Reyes family on her side. The Kane and  Jaha families too. But she was losing her control and influence over the house Blake, Pike, Emmerson, Wallace, Green, Jordan, and all the lesser houses they controlled and influenced. Which... unfortunately... was more than Lexa had accounted for. 

Houses like Collins, Murphy, Miller and McIntyre – houses still on the more powerful side despite not attaining the status held by the ten great houses – were all leaning in alliance to Pike. While families like Tsing, Lovejoy and Peters – houses of reasonable influence as well – were leaning in alliance to Wallace. None of the houses of that level were allied to her or the houses of whom she had direct influence  over.It was almost as if it were her and Clarke against the world. A  Skaa and Noble  Mistborn , against all the remained of the Lord Ruler’s empire.

Her reflection stared back at her; crooked collar, unfastened waistcoat, disheveled hair and a familiar, bitter scowl.  She didn’t look the part of a  queen at all.  Curious, she  buttoned  her waistcoat and smoothed out the golden yellow fabric. It helped  bring a sort of formality to her appearance , sure, but didn’t make her look any less obscure  in the fashion of nobles.  No matter how many times she dressed like  a person of nobility , she knew she would never feel or look the part.

She sighed with defeat  and  turned away from the mirror, finding Clarke and Raven standing in the doorway of one of Keep Reyes’ many rooms. 

Raven whistled, her back pressed into the doorframe and her arms crossed over her chest, one elbow poking Clarke in the ribs as her eyes scanned Lexa up and down. “Looking sharp, your Majesty.”

Clarke stepped forward and crossed into the room.  She closed the distance between herself and Lexa, so close that she could feel the warmth of Clarke’s breath in the air, making Lexa hesitate and fight the urge to flinch at the closeness between them.  One  of her hands drifted up the sleeve of Lexa’s coat and towards her collar , and Lexa felt her body tense to stone as Clarke’s fingers brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. “Here,” she said, smiling softly as she took in Lexa’s appearance. “Let me help you with that.”

“Thank you,” Lexa said, stiffening at the touch of Clarke’s knuckles against her neck as her fingers tugged on her collar and adjusted her shirt and coat. 

“Can’t even tell you’re  Skaa ,” Raven said. 

“Like you’ve been wearing suits your whole life,” Clarke agreed, letting her fingers slip away from Lexa and allowing her to breathe again .

Lexa nodded, not sure what to say since she felt so very much the opposite of what she was being told. But Clarke, however, did look like she had been doing this all her life. She was as confident and comfortable as usual, her demeanor no different in her beautiful  ballgown than it was in rough spun trousers. Her hair flowed in curling cascades and intricately designed patterns that framed her face and brought light to her eyes, and her dress was a soft, dark blue that further brightened the ocean orbs that look upon Lexa now. It was strangely similar, yet strikingly different from the dress she had worn on the night they met, and Lexa couldn’t help but reflect on Clarke’s beauty, even in her drunken and angered state that day. Seeing her now, just as beautiful as she was that day, sobered and focused and ready to tackle the world; it made Lexa’s throat run dry.

Next to her, Raven was wearing a dark red dress, her hair pinned back with sapphire encrusted pin that shimmered like an accent and brought out the warm hues of her eyes and the bright red lipstick painted on her lips. Together they looked like quite the pair; powerful, poised, controlled. Nothing like the way Lexa feels, so out of her element here in Keep Reyes.

The ball had been organized by Raven and a slightly less powerful noble family in  Luthadel , House Sinclair, of whom Lexa had learned was very close to House Reyes, Kane and Griffin in terms of alliances but still respected by houses such as Pike, Blake, and Green as well. Held in Keep Reyes but hosted by house Sinclair, the ball is meant to (hopefully) bring forth a chance for Clarke and Lexa to convince the other Nobles that Lexa’s leadership is in their best interests. By using House Reyes and House Sinclair as hosts, it pulls away from the political pressure that had been plaguing Lexa lately due to her close proximity to Clarke.

“We should get downstairs,” Clarke said with a soft, tone and an equally soft press of her fingers into Lexa’s shoulder. 

Lexa sucked in a breath and steadied herself. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Lead the way.”

Clarke smiled and then stepped back, her heels clicking against the stone floor of Raven’s Keep. She guided Lexa through the vast maze of hallways and stairwells, chatting idly with Raven about the  guestlist and recent rumors and speculations about various members of important houses, and occasionally turning around to explain things in greater detail to Lexa as they walked through the Keep.

Apparently – at least according to Raven’s sources – there's quite a bit of rumors going around about Clarke that she (and Lexa) needed to be aware of. Not that this supposed Lexa by any means. The trading of rumors and secrets is the greatest weapon and most valuable currency in all of  Scadrial and Nobles (particularly  Luthadel Nobles) we’re the most skilled and deadly people in all of her kingdom when it came to information. Most of the rumors were bullshit. Lexa hardly even paid them any mind as Raven relayed the information to Clarke, but when she mentioned Bellamy, her new arch nemesis and begrudging rival, she couldn’t help but perk up and listen in.

“He needs to get my dad’s name out of his mouth,” Clarke said as they turned a corner. “He has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“I knew it was bullshit. Your dad was too kind to force a snap on his only heir.” Raven agreed. “But you know that if people think you’re hiding something that big that they’re going to try and force your hand. More than that, it’s going to change the image people have of your father.”

“What an asshole,” Clarke spat. “My father was a good man.”

“The best,” Raven agreed. She stopped then and leaned into her cane. “Which is why you need to know this. No good comes at all from being believed to be a Thug . Not for you .”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Lexa promised.

“This isn’t your battlefield,” Clarke told her. “You can’t threaten secrets with  Allomancy .”

“Watch me,” Lexa told them. 

Raven smirked at her and said. “I’d like to see that. Wouldn’t you,  Clarke ?”

“Lexa,” Clarke  said with soft eyes . “ Thank you, but I can take care of myself here .”

And Lexa knew that. She did.  Clarke had navigated the deceptively calm waters of noble tricks and mind games for years .  Lexa hadn’t bothered to do more than learn to mimic it for the sake of the  occasional  heist.  She had a firm understanding of how it worked but, nobles were trained from a very young age to play this game, and houses like hers  didn’t come into power  for no reason at all.  They were good at this stuff.  Better than most. Better than Lexa would be. 

But what Lexa did know was hiding  Allomancy . 

During the Final Empire, during the reign of the Lord Ruler, any  Skaa with noble blood was immediately, brutally executed.  Allomancy in  Skaa was strictly forbidden so noble blood mixing with that of  Skaa was also forbidden. That didn’t mean that the raping of  Skaa was forbidden. In fact, as far as the Lord Ruler was concerned, a noble could do whatever he pleased with his  Skaa so long as they were ‘taken care of’. Siring a  Skaa offspring was punishable by death, even for Nobles. So in that end, Lexa wasn’t supposed to exist at all.

Then again, she didn’t even know she was capable of  Allomancy until a few years ago, so it isn't like she had to hide her abilities her entire life. But returning to  Luthadel after her time in the pits, leading a revolution against a thousand-year-old empire... she had to that without raising any suspicions. She had to learn  Allomancy in secret, master it in secret, and use it in ways that never revealed who she was. Never could anyone know that among the rare and powerful  Mistborn of the Noble bloodlines was a  Skaa thief. Not until she was ready for that.

Now, though, everyone knows.

The least she can do, then, is keep Clarke’s newly discovered powers a secret. For her own sake, and for Clarke’s. 

Clarke smiled at her when she nodded in silent understanding to her request to let her fight her own battles before turning her attention turned back to Raven as they meandered down a long, arch ceiling hallway that led to the ballroom. 

Balls were, to the best of Lexa’s knowledge, a nightly circuit of parties held by the inner circles of the Nobility – especially for those in  Luthadel . During the year of Lexa’s rebellion, she had sent Octavia in as a spy to several of these parties. During her early years as a thief, she had done similar jobs herself but due to her notoriety and infamy, it was impossible for her to have attended balls during the last years of the Final Empire. She was rusty on how they worked and nervous for what was to come. But shouldn’t show that on her face, not now at least. So she kept her expression stoic and stony, her form rigid and powerful, with only the occasional heavy swallow to break her status as power itself. 

“Who all is supposed to attend this?” Lexa asked as they reached the doors to the Ballroom. “What are we walking into here?”

Clarke dipped her head to one side and looked at Raven.

“I’m expecting a number of powerful families,” Raven said. “Green and Jordan, Fox, Murphy... Collins too.”

“What about Blake or Wallace?”

“Lord Cage should be here. Lords Emmerson and Lovejoy too. They wouldn’t miss a chance like this. Not sure about Bellamy. He’s been pretty scarce since you announced Pike’s betrayal and attempted abductions.”

“Probably for the best,” Clarke said. 

“He can’t hide from me forever,” Lexa said. 

Clarke touched her arm, her fingers trailing up the sleeve of her coat and then back down again. The touch almost brought Lexa to a shiver, but she bit down on her cheeks and steeled her jaw, watching as Clarke’s fingers squeezed around her bicep and then slipped away. “Don’t worry about Bellamy tonight,” she said. “Worry about the people you still have a chance with.”

“What he did—”

“People are going to ask about that,” Raven said, cutting Lexa off. “A lot, by the way. Have you thought about what you’re going to tell them?”

“The truth,” Lexa said, matter of fact.

“Lexa,” Clarke said. “You can’t just tell people your side and expect it to pass as fact. You have to control the flow of information. Make it valuable.”

“Then I’ll leave that to you, Lady Clarke.”

The doors were pulled open by the  Terrisman and Lexa’s eyes lifted to see the vast, beautifully decorated room before them. Keep Reyes might not have the finesse of Keep Griffin, but the room before would never lead someone to think that. 

The ballroom was a long, rectangular room with stained glass that pains a rainbow of colors onto the dance floor and into the chandeliers that shimmered like multi-colored crystals over their heads. The dance floor was at the back end of the room down a short stairwell and was overlooked by the seating area for dining as well as the balcony that wrapped around the room like vines wrapping around a tree trunk. The windows themselves were tall and looming, with crushed velvet drapes pulled to either side to allow the light from outside to filter in through the colored window panes and the floor was a beautiful and shiny and reflected the paint of color like pools upon its surface. 

There were dozens of tables in the seating area with well-dressed  Skaa waiting staff lined along the walls, ready to begin serving the meal at Raven’s orders. Most the tables were filled with chatting Lord and Ladies, heirs and heiresses, all young and prime and ready to share secrets and court allies the way they always have but a few stragglers were already drinking wine on the balcony or dancing casually down on the floor below. Lexa knew most of the noble families by name and reputation, and while she recognized several faces, there were dozens more that were unfamiliar to her; staring eyes that knew her face better than she knew theirs.

She swallowed thickly as Raven ushered them into the ballroom, thinking about the enemies she surely has that are sitting in the room – watching her – studying her. She didn't like the feeling. She hated the knowledge. But Clarke seemed to swell with comfort and confidence as she crossed the threshold. Unlike Lexa, who saw only enemies and attacks coming her way, Clarke saw opportunity and advancement. She saw a field of battle she recognized, she thrived in. And Lexa knew then that this was a battle she would have no choice but to leave in Clarke’s hands.

Following someone else's lead was strange to her, but she settled quickly into the role. She kept herself beside Clarke, watching for the slightest cues in her movements to tell her where to go and what to do. They sat at table near the back of the ballroom, Clarke across from her and Raven to Lexa’s right; an empty seat to her left. A few nobles eyed the empty seat, but none dared to venture over and it wasn’t until a serving  Skaa approached them with a jug of wine to fill their cups that anyone had anything to say at all.

“Wine, Mistress?”

“Red or white?” Clarke asked.

“Red, Mistress.”

Clarke offered her cup with a grin so wide it split her features.

Silently, Lexa too offered her cup to the serving  Skaa .

_ What are they paying you,  _ she felt herself wondering as the servant bowed and backed away and she couldn’t help but look at Clarke with an expression of concerned interest over the matter.

“Raven’s paying them,” Clarke assured. “Everyone working here is here of free will and getting a fist full of  Boxings . Promise.”

Lexa hummed and watched as a new set of serving  Skaa arrived to the table with plates piled with decadent food in their hands. The smell was so rich it made Lexa’s stomach churn, but she forced a smile at the serving girl and then at Clarke and Raven. She poked at the roasted vegetables that swam in a bath of butters and cheese with her fork and then the meat beside it. 

“Is it too much?” Raven asked. “Maybe I should have picked something simpler.”

“It’s perfect, Raven,” Clarke assured. “You throw a fine party.”

And Raven really did. The ballroom was gushing with activity and full of sour-faced nobles who looked at her like she’s some sort of plague. Lexa chewed on her cheeks, pushing the vegetable on her fork around the puddle of cheese and butter on her plate as she avoided the gaze of lesser nobles who probably saw her as some sort of ruthless dictator. She did kill Lord Collins to make a point. She did strip Pike of his status and put a price on his head. She could only agree with their assumptions based on those two facts alone that it looked as if she were out to destroy Noble culture at any cost.

The thing was, she didn’t want that, and this party was supposed to help prove that fact. 

She hadn’t yet spotted the members of her crew who had been invited to the affair, but she knew they would be here, somewhere in the crowds, probably all grouped together at a table and chomping angrily on crusty bread instead of trying to build something that resembled a working relationship with members of the Noble families. She could only hope that they arrived sooner rather than later, so that when Clarke inevitably abandoned her to do whatever it is Nobles like Clarke do at events like this, she wouldn't be standing around awkwardly in the corner of the ballroom pretending to not exist while simultaneously trying not to look like someone just there to collect information on their enemies.

Inevitably, Raven disappeared on them to play proper hostess, and Lexa was left to sit with Clarke in the most awkward silence that had fallen over them yet. But it didn’t last long. Clarke smiled at her from across the table, dabbed at the corners of her lips with her cloth napkin, and then pushed away from the table herself, saying something that Lexa couldn’t quite make out beyond the word “socialize”, which Lexa had always known was exactly her strongest skill. 

But it as it turned out, Clarke wasn’t planning on abandoning her to meet with friends at all. She extended a hand towards Lexa, raising an eyebrow at her when she stared back at it with a confused expression, and then huffed loudly before grabbing Lexa’s wrist and yanking her out of her seat. “Come on,” she said. “I want to introduce you to some people.”

She was guided – or rather, dragged – across the ballroom to a table of people Lexa knew in theory but not in practice. People of which Octavia once reported regularly on. People of which Lexa knew had the potential to play key rolls in the initial rebellion. “Lexa,” she said, letting her wrist go and gesturing to the three friends she wanted her to meet. “These are my friends: Monty Green, Jasper Jordan, and you know Wells. Guys, this is Lexa.”

Wells looked from Clarke to Lexa and gave her a forced smile and a respectful dip of his chin. “Your Highness,” he greeted. 

“Your Highness,” repeated Green and Jordan in near perfect unison.

Lexa nodded back at them, “Lord Jordan. Green.  Jaha .”

Clarke shook her head. “No,” she said. “This isn’t right. Too tense. Can you all just, relax for ten seconds?”

Wells, as Lexa expected, did exactly as Clarke asked. He wiped his face with his napkin and then pushed back from his chair and stood up, extending a hand towards Lexa with his best smile and said. “It’s an honor to meet you, officially, that is. Clarke has told us a lot about you.”

“Has she?” Lexa asked, giving Clarke a  sidelonged glance as she shook his hand. It was firm and solid in her own; confident and sure. Exactly what she expected.

Wells  Jaha was a tall young man in a dark blue waistcoat with soft eyes and a gentle smile, and features that seemed to nearly replicate his father’s. His jaw was sharp, face freshly shaven, and his handshake was firm and concise. She suspected he had been planning his official introductions since the moment his father elected him to take his place as an ambassador, as his movements and his words – no matter how kind – felt practiced and stiff. 

Of the three, Monty Green was the most relaxed; much to Lexa surprise given his mother’s allegiance with Pike and Blake. Monty wore a red waistcoat over a white shirt that clearly hung looser and more disheveled than standard noble fashion tended to present itself. His hair was long and shaggy, nearly covering his eyes and sculpting around the shape of his angular features. He nodded at her when she observed him, giving her a smile as practiced as Wells’ was, and gestured for her and Clarke to pull up chairs and join them while saying, “What sort of subjects are we to not offer the queen a seat at our table?” 

While she expected hesitance from Monty Green, she hadn’t expected to get death glares from Jasper Jordan. As Clarke pulled up their seats and they settled into the circle of her friends, Jasper kept his eyes locked and loaded on Lexa as if he were waiting for her to step into a trap he had laid. He looked almost sickly compared to Monty and Wells, with dark purple circles under bloodshot eyes and a paper white skin, buzzed hair that still somehow looked greasy and unmanaged, and dirty fingernails that drummed impatiently upon the table. 

Lexa peeled her gaze away from Jasper and dipped her chin in a thankful bow. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Clarke’s friends,” she told them. “I know she misses you all quite extensively.”

“And we miss Clarke,” Wells said, smiling at Clarke and placing his hand atop hers, giving it a visible squeeze that makes Clarke blush slightly and avert her gaze away from Lexa. “But we all know how important her role is to the future of  Scadrial .”

Jasper huffed, and Monty stabbed him with his elbow, harshly whispering, “cut it out, Jasper,” under his breath.

Lexa decidedly ignored the exchange, and tried her hand at returning the feeling. “We all have roles to play that will decide our future. I’m glad to have people like all of you to represent the needs of your people.”

The exchange was stiff and awkward, and Lexa found that her gaze wandered more than it probably should. She didn’t know where to look or what expression to make, who was on her side and who saw her as some sort of enemy to be defeated. She didn’t know if these were people she could trust, or people she couldn’t. The way it seemed, these people who Clarke once thought the world of no longer thought the world of her. But she knew why Clarke had brought her to them. She knew that she hoped that meeting her directly, officially, might help sway the minds of her friends. Might show them that Clarke doesn’t see herself as the prisoner they’ve chosen to believe her to be.

But the problem was, Lexa couldn’t figure out the best way to approach them. Not in a setting like this; where her power wasn’t meant to be pressed down on her subjects, her personality was. It had been so long since Lexa has allowed herself to be anything other than a force to be reckoned with that she didn’t even remember what her personality was like. 

Thankfully, Clarke and Monty seemed to click right away, and the two dragged the awkward, kicking and screaming conversation onward with a decisive intent. 

“Quite the turnout tonight,” Monty mused, looking around the ballroom. “I half expected people not to show, given everything going on.”

“People crave normalcy,” Clarke said. “Besides. Everyone loves Raven and Sinclair. Can you imagine someone actually turning one of the two of them down for anything?”

“You’re not wrong,” Monty told her. “It does feel good to do something normal again, and Raven really was the best choice for host. Was this party your idea, Your Majesty? If so, I commend you for the effort.”

“Actually, it was Raven’s idea,” Lexa said. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” said Wells. “Raven always has tried to solve everything with a party.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Clarke poked.

Wells laughed nervously and said, “Nothing at all. Just an observation.”

“Speaking of observations,” Monty said. “I noticed quite a few new faces here tonight.”

“I noticed quite a few  _ missing _ faces,” Jasper said under his breath.

Lexa caught Clarke snarling at Jasper, and watched as Monty again nudged the other nobleman with his elbow to silence his obvious disdain.

“Lesser nobles come to see their new queen I assume,” Monty said, trying to keep the conversation friendly. 

“Perhaps,” Clarke said. “There are several  Skaa among the guests as well. Merchants and craftsmen, members of Lexa’s inner circle. You should introduce yourself if you have the time. I’m sure Octavia would appreciate the hello.”

“Whose Octavia?” Asked Wells.

“Oh,” Clarke remembered. “Lady  Aranea . Her name’s actually Octavia. She’s Bellamy’s half-sister. If I remember right, Jasper had something of a crush on her for a while.”

“Did he?” Wells jokes, pretending as if this is new information. “Jasper, having a crush? Who would have thought?”

“Shut up,” Jasper scolded. “I did not.”

Monty chuckled awkwardly and then scratched the side of his head. “I guess we should say hi then. Always liked  Aranea . A bit rough around the edges, but she was quite interesting to have around none the less.”

“Yeah,” Wells agreed. “Maybe we should introduce ourselves to all the  Skaa here tonight.”

“Maybe you should,” Clarke mused, agreeing with them. “That is the point of all this.”

“You mean there’s more to parties than exploiting secrets and courting future wives our parents won't approve of?” Monty joked.

“Astounding, isn’t it,” Clarke said with a smile.

“I would hope that everyone here has a good time,” Lexa said. “ Skaa and Nobles alike.”

Wells smiled and extended a hand towards Clarke. “Speaking of having a good time,” he said. “It’s been some time since we’ve danced, Clarke. Would you care to join me for the next song?”

* * *

Clarke was no fool. She knew what Wells intentions were in asking her to dance, but how could she say no when the whole point of this was to get the Nobles to relax in the presence of the  Skaa and hopefully show them that it's possible to coexist with one another under Lexa’s leadership. Dancing with Wells was something she would do at balls for years, denying him now made a statement she knew she couldn’t afford.

She looked at Lexa for some sort of guidance, but the woman did little more than shrug at the suggestion and turn her attention back to Monty who was now asking Lexa about Octavia and what type of person she was compared to the person he knew as  Aranea . Seeing her friends interact with Lexa this way, even just Monty and Wells, it made a huge difference. They were all among the richest and most powerful families in  Scadrial . If people like Wells and Monty could get along with Lexa, well, that planted the seeds for their allied houses to do the same. And as much as it would benefit them all for Lexa to dance with a noble herself, she didn’t quite see that happening with the men of  Luthadel . 

Perhaps leaving Lexa to establish connections on her own was the right move. Perhaps Clarke showing that she could make decisions of her own and leave Lexa’s side as she pleased would help alleviate the opinion and misplaced idea that she was some sort of prisoner. But on the other hand, Clarke herself (especially in Jasper’s current state), simply didn’t feel comfortable leaving Lexa’s side. She wanted to be there for Lexa’s traverse through the complexities of Noble parties, not abandon her to get eaten alive by angry nobles who are just waiting for a moment to strike her with distasteful and disrespectful questions. But she had to remind herself, that Lexa was more than capable of taking care of herself. And any challenge that faced her was an opportunity for her to make a statement of her own. For Clarke to interfere with that... well, it simply wasn’t in good taste.

Seeing the best outcome for her in agreeing to Wells’ offer, Clarke took the man’s hand with a slight curtsey and a gentle, “I’d be honored,” in regards to his request. She didn’t dare look at Lexa as she raised from her chair and allowed herself to led across the ballroom to the dance floor; knowing that if she let herself look too long into those glowing green eyes of hers, that she would never be able to leave her. Which, in retrospect, was a strange feeling. 

Wells wrapped a hand around her waist and she placed a hand atop his without so much as thinking, her mind wrapped around the thought of Lexa and not of the dance that Wells had begun to guide her through.

It was only a few months ago that Clarke was sneaking out at every opportunity, desperate to surround herself in this very culture. She would walk the gardens of her home, have tea with Raven or Monty or Wells, bathe in oils in her luxurious tub and wash away the grime and grit that littered the  Skaa slums. She would sneak away to shops to buy herself food she felt more appropriate for herself, fight with herself over the idea of begging her mother to let her return home, visit her father’s grave on the Griffin grounds and tell him every detail of the horrid situation her mother had put her in; beg him for a sign, for guidance. She would disappear to the shadows, places where no one would come to look for her, and let the tears fall from her eyes in peace.

But now... now she can’t imagine leaving Lexa’s side. Even this, this dance with a man she’s known for as long as she can remember, feels wrong. 

The music swells and crescendos, and Wells twirls them around with a confidence, guiding hand, his gentle smile trying so hard to soothe her the way it always had in the past. But ever since her father passed, even Wells’ presence can’t quell the fire that’s sparked to life inside her; the fire that only Lexa knows how to control. 

They step in sync with the music and Clarke presses her lips together at the thought of telling Wells about her newly discovered powers, the attempt Bellamy had made on her and Lexa’s life and the rush of it all when Pewter surged through her every vein and pore. He was a soother, a damn good one, maybe he’d understand what she felt in that moment. Maybe he wouldn’t look at her as any different from the woman she had been before; a woman whose only power was manipulation and deception, whose entire life had been sheltered and protected at the cost of adding power to her family name.

But then again, that woman died when her father’s head was severed from his body. The woman she was, the woman Wells loved... if he knew what she’d been through, what she’d become under Lexa’s reign... Would he still look at her the way he was looking at her now? Would he still support the fight Lexa was willing to do anything to keep alive?

“You do look beautiful tonight,” he told her as they danced. “It makes me happy to see you doing so well under Lexa’s care. If I'm being completely honest, I was worried when my father told me that your mother had sent you away.”

“And what do you think now?” Clarke asked him as they turned with the music. “About  Skaa and Nobles and my being with them?”

Wells’ smile grew, splitting his features and radiating from his shining eyes. “I think your dad would proud of you, for everything you’re doing for us and for the  Skaa . I’m proud of you, too.”

Clarke blinked. She wasn’t prepared to hear someone talk about her father with her. Especially not Wells. “Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot.”

“You’re incredible, Clarke. There’s no one in  Scadrial who could do what you’re doing. Bridging the gap between Nobles and  Skaa after a thousand year of divide and cruelty.”

Clarke blushed at the compliment and averted her eyes. “It’s Lexa’s doing,” she admitted. “She’s the incredible one. Not me. I’m just lucky enough to be along for the ride.”

Wells, guiding her as gently as he had during their first dance as children, squeezed her hand in his and met his eyes with her hers and told her with intense sincerity, “Lexa is the lucky one, Clarke.” His fingers slipped from her own and he stepped back at the song’s end, bowing slightly in polite tradition to thank her for the dance. “I am, too.”

Clarke blushed again, and her eyes flew from Wells to anything else. They found Raven first, sitting in a chair at a table with Octavia and the rest of Lexa’s crew, laughing and smiling. They found Anya, strangely smiling back at Raven with a lightness she had never seen on the older woman’s usually scornful features. They found Jasper and Monty, doing their usual silliness but with Lincoln of all people sitting with them. They found the Queen, leaning over the railing of the balcony, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips when their eyes locked across the ballroom.

Lexa... the lucky one. Yeah, right.

“You’ll have to excuse me. There are other matters that requires my attention tonight,” Clarke said, stepping back from Wells. 

“Of course,” Wells said. “And thank you for the dance. You make a lovely partner.” Wells bowed, and as he did so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, slowing the world down and filling Clarke with dread. He couldn’t be doing this to her again. No. He wouldn’t. 

Clarke pretended not to notice, swallowed the nervous laugh that bubbled in her throat, and turned heel as fast as she could. The next thing she knew, she was standing at the top of the balcony, looking at Lexa again and heaving anxious breaths, leaving Wells standing in the middle of the dance floor alone.

She didn’t intend to come to Lexa, but here she was; with shaking breath and trembling anxiety, staring at the Queen staring at her. Lexa was still leaning her forearm along the balcony railing, her weight pressed into the railing and one foot crossed in front of the other, twisted just slightly from where she had been only moments before so that she could look Clarke in eyes with those perceptive green flames of hers. She wasn’t smiling anymore, she was frowning, and her fingers along the rail were pressed so hard into the metal that her joints were white.

“You have a suitor,” Lexa observed. 

Clarke swallowed and shook her head, strangely offended that Lexa was watching her all of the sudden. “Shouldn’t you be making alliances?”

“I should be doing a lot of things.” She looked down into the ballroom below again with a casual roll of her head. “You dance beautifully, Lady Clarke. You and Lord Jaha make a fine pair.”

“We’re not,” Clarke said, feeling defensive and trying her best to restrain her sharp tongue. “A pair, I mean.”

Lexa turned back to Clarke. “My mistake. I was under the impression that—”

“It’s the wrong impression. I told you before,  Wells is just a friend.”

“I don’t believe he sees it that way,” Lexa said. 

“He should,” Clarke said. “He will.”

Lexa released the railing and shifted her weight back onto even footing. Her hands snaked behind her back and her chin raised just slightly, making her look as if she were looking down on Clarke somehow, judging her. “You’re of an age and status where courtship and marriage should be a priority for you. If you’re not interested in Lord Jaha, then you must be interested in someone.”

“And what does it matter to you who I’m interested in?” She didn’t know why she’s being so smart. She hadn’t been this way towards the Queen since she first arrived at Indra’s shop, and even then, looking back, she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve it now either. But something about Lexa seeing that  handkerchief drove a knife into Clarke’s side; as if Lexa had betrayed her somehow even though she had done absolutely nothing wrong. 

Lexa licked her lips and looked elsewhere again. “I guess it doesn’t,” she said. “My apologies, Lady Griffin. I did not mean to overstep any personal  boundaries .”

Lexa was the one apologizing and yet Clarke was the one that felt like shit. Here was, treating Lexa worse than she deserved, for no apparent reason, after months of slowly building trust and equality between them. Lexa had done nothing but aid and support her in every venture since the signing of their  alliance . She had risked everything to save her life from Pike and Bellamy. She had worked herself to the point of collapse and challenged all that  sought to destroy Clarke’s reputation, even with broken bones and exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. She had been the rock to steady her, her light in her darkest hour, the first person she had grown to trust since her father’s passing. And here Clarke was, snapping and biting and pushing her away. All because Lexa saw something she wished she hadn’t.

And why? Why did it matter that Lexa had seen  anything. She knew already that Wells had strong feelings towards Clarke. Lexa had made a point to ensure that Wells’ cooperation didn’t hinge on his feelings towards Clarke alone. She knew, so it shouldn’t matter. But it did matter. At least to Clarke. The thing was, she didn’t know why it bothered her so much, and a part of her, a bigger part than she was willing to admit even to herself, was afraid to find out the reason.


End file.
